


The Priest of Loki

by UmbraeCalamitas, WhinyWingedWinchester



Category: Captain America (Movies), Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Dashingfrost - Freeform, Deities, Depression, F/M, Gen, Goddesses, Gods, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Idunn - Freeform, Immortality, Jötnar | Jotuns | Frost Giants (Norse Religion & Lore), Loki's Children - Freeform, M/M, Misunderstandings, Odin is a good father, Pagan Festivals, Pagan Gods, Paganism, Rituals, Soulbonds, Soulmates, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Vanaheimr | Vanaheim, golden apples, heimdall sees all, pagan worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:15:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21846535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UmbraeCalamitas/pseuds/UmbraeCalamitas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhinyWingedWinchester/pseuds/WhinyWingedWinchester
Summary: It’s madness, abandoning his home and his life to go searching for a temple in the wilderness of Norway, but when Fandral finds it, he can’t bear to leave. He devotes himself to Loki, God of Mischief, and makes a home for himself in this place - a home for the first time in his life. And he attracts the curiosity and interest of the God of Mischief, who comes looking for who has claimed the role of his first ever follower. But lies are as natural to Loki as breathing, and they have a price.
Relationships: Fandral/Loki (Marvel), Helblindi/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 68





	The Priest of Loki

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are again, Talky & Trips, the captains of the SS DashingFrost, with another wonderful fic of our two favourite boys.  
> So get comfy and grab your tissues.  
> Xx

**F** andral stepped off the ferry and looked up at the mountains of Vengsøy with a grin. Two solid days of travelling from Chicago to Oslo, then trains and buses and the world’s most terrifyingly old ferry, and he was finally here. 

He hoisted his bag a little higher on his shoulder and rewrapped his scarf a little tighter around his neck, drawing it up over his mouth and nose. The beanie he’d tucked into his pocket for the duration of the ferry ride was jammed down on his head, and Fandral waved goodbye to the ferry master and set off. 

It didn’t take too long for him to find a small cafe near the exit of the town and he hurried inside gratefully. Armed with a small coffee and his mythology project folder, he pulled the map of Vengsøy out and double checked his route. 

He’d timed his arrival so that he would have the entire day to reach where he wanted to go. A glance at his watch showed it was just after 7am, which left him plenty of daylight to find the temple. 

“Loki’s Temple,” he murmured and tapped his pen against the textbook page he’d covered in highlighter on the flight over. “Nestled somewhere between two ridges on the edge of an unnamed lake.” Fandral finished his coffee and sighed. “So fucking specific. Thanks a bunch, old mythology dudes.” 

He shoved his books and papers away, all except the map, and rewrapped himself in his scarf, tugged his beanie down and set out. 

Nearly five and a half hours later, he sat down on a boulder in the ass-end of _nowhere_ and flopped over onto his back. The sky was still clear and the air was still freezing, the grass was still green and he still hadn’t found the temple.

“Good thing I bought a tent in Oslo,” he said quietly. “And everything else in the survival book.” Fandral huffed a sigh and rubbed at his forehead. “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had.”

A mythology project assigned in college had sparked his interest in Loki, the Norse God of Mischief. A Trickster, parent of some odd children and (supposed) brother of Thor. 

And who, apparently, had some super secret mystical hidden fucking temple here in Norway. Fandral groaned and forced himself back to his feet. “Right,” he said firmly. “I’m gonna go around this hill, and if it’s not here, I’m camping for the night.” 

He stomped his boots to reaffirm his decision and started walking again. 

And when he rounded the other side of the hill an hour later, he had to sit down to laugh. Because _of course_ the temple was right fucking there. Ruined and filthy, but it was _there_. 

“Gotcha!”

* * *

Loki could feel his vision blanking as his attention wavered for the third time since Lord Longbeard (Astli was his name) had begun speaking forty minutes ago. Forty minutes of discussions about why the road that ran in front of Astli’s house needed to be repaired and why the repairs (the third ones this year) needed to be performed and paid for by the Kingdom, as opposed to Astli and his son, who had been the one to _break_ the road. For the third time. This year. 

And four times the year before. Because some people - old, white-bearded old men who creaked when they walked - thought they were allowed to use six horse teams on their carriages when the laws of the city specifically said _two,_ just because they had been a Lord for longer than Loki had been breathing air. 

Once again, Loki wondered why his father had decided he needed to sit in on this meeting. Since Thor obviously _wasn’t_ here, he thought his brother may have somehow managed to talk his way out of having to attend this month’s production of _The Woes of Asgard’s Council._

Every month, for as long as Loki had been alive and probably longer. How his father hadn’t murdered all of them, or at least disbanded them, he had no idea. He wondered how much trouble he would get in for setting Lord Astli’s beard on fire. Honestly, the thing needed a little tending. Lord Astli wouldn’t look out of place in a pasture with a bunch of other raggedly-bearded goats.

Someone cleared their throat and Loki’s eyes snapped to his father, who was giving him a pointed look. One of those “you missed the bus” looks. 

Hiding his grimace, Loki sat up a little straighter in his seat and smiled innocently at his father. Odin, naturally, was not fooled and some of Loki’s grin faltered. “I apologize, Father. My mind was elsewhere.” 

“I was asking how you would handle the issue of Lord Astli’s road not remaining in good condition.” 

Loki carefully didn’t let his exasperation show on his face. And he discarded the first three responses that came to mind as inappropriate. “I… suppose, given the fact that the damage is consistent, finding the source should be the main priority. And once we know why the road keeps being damaged, we can put a stop to the cause.” Which they _knew,_ but since Lord Astli was trying to be surreptitious about it, they could simply document everything and shove it under his nose (if they could find a place amidst all the hair). 

He turned a smile onto the Lord in question. “Of course, if Lord Astli knows the cause, he could save us all some time.” 

* * *

Fandral had decided against entering the temple in the dark and had camped out the front of it instead. But looking at it now as the sun rose, he couldn’t help but feel _sad_. 

It had obviously been beautiful at one point, and he thought that it could be again. Where most temples had been made of wood, this one had been carved into the side of the mountain itself. Big stone pillars at each side of the entrance showed him that once there had been an enormous wooden door there. When he looked closer, he could see the ancient remains of rusted metal where the hinges had been. 

There was no natural light inside, not until he shoved at the broken wooden roof by the entryway and the entire thing came crashing down on his head. Fandral coughed and spluttered, waving away the dust and dead leaves, before he turned to look. 

Empty and broken ceramic containers, bottles that had clearly held wine at some point. There were old and rotted wicker baskets, mouldy bolts of fabrics and moth-eaten old furs and skins. And in the centre of the temple was an enormous throne of solid gold, dusty and dirty, but still shining. A snake of emerald and silver wound its way along the top and when Fandral stepped closer, the sunlight gave the eyes the effect of following him. 

“Well, that’s awesome,” he murmured.

The rest of the temple was dark and dirty, and he stood back in the middle with a sigh, hands on his hips and bottom lip firmly between his teeth. 

None of his research had indicated that the temple was abandoned. And it made him feel bad for Loki. That there was no one who came to worship him, to leave him gifts and ask to take his name. The old rituals and methods of invoking and praising him had been whittled down to subtext and speech bubbles in his textbooks. 

Thor, on the other hand, had entire books. 

Fandral rubbed at his cold nose and then grinned. 

“Thor was all about sex, storms and parties,” he said to the empty temple. “You clearly preferred the finer aspects of the rituals. Pretty shiny things and people to love you.” Fandral nodded to himself and went back outside. It took him only a few minutes to disassemble the tent and stomp out his fire before he dragged it all inside the temple. 

“It’s not - _ow!_ \- heritage listed,” he panted and cussed as he stubbed his toe and smacked his elbow on the throne. “Damn! So, clearly - _OW_ \- that means I can stay here. No one comes here, obviously. Which makes it mine, now.” 

He threw the tent down, the bent and broken poles skittering off into the corner somewhere and shrugged. “Eh. There’s a throne. Always wanted to sit in one.” He looked around slowly and grinned. “Right then, woodland critters! Let’s Snow White this bitch!”

* * *

Loki did his best to nod appreciatively and take in the lecture his father gave him after the meeting was over. He really _did_ try. It was just that there was a weird tickle in the back of his mind, like some kind of magic, and it was incredibly distracting. 

“One day, you and your brother will rule Asgard. You can’t learn all there is to know about being King in a book.”

Loki grimaced. He thought he’d done a fair job of presenting a solution to the problem. He hadn’t even insulted Lord Astli for attempting to mooch off the kingdom, as though he wasn’t swimming in wealth himself - and it had been very tempting. 

His father’s lecture ended on a disappointed look from Odin that made Loki cringe internally, but he tried not to let it show on his face. Of the two of them, Loki was better at the diplomatic bits - he had to be in order to clean up after Thor. But when it came to people, to being truly appreciated by people and not simply good at manipulating them, Thor was the better. Loki thought that his father probably appreciated Thor’s skills more, despite his words. It made dealing with his father awkward. Loki always felt a little like a disappointment. 

Even that feeling, however, was pushed aside as Loki made his way back to his rooms. The tingling feeling hadn’t abated. It hadn’t worsened, either. It was just _there._

Loki didn’t know what it was. And he honestly wasn’t certain how to find out. Not tonight, anyway. He was exhausted from dealing with the Council and their stupidity. He just wanted to sleep. 

If he was still feeling weird tomorrow, he could look into it then. 

* * *

The throne was the first thing he’d cleaned, and it was perfect, if he did say so himself, the gold coming up sparkling and glittery. 

Then he’d set about knocking down the cobwebs (thankfully spider-free) and sweeping them out the door along with however many decades of dust was on the floor. A break outside was needed after that. Fandral had never been so grateful in his _life_ that he was neither asthmatic nor prone to allergies. A few scented candles that he’d purchased in Oslo were set out on the small altars that he’d uncovered beneath the mouldy fabrics and broken bottles. All the old tributes he’d piled into one of the many empty, collapsible canvas boxes he’d brought with him. Anything that was too far gone, he’d taken and set outside the temple, to burn with the wood he’d collected. 

“All the weird looks for being a single American dude travelling with a broom sticking out of his backpack was worth it,” he sighed happily and sank down onto the throne to catch his breath. Cleaning supplies had been a last minute decision, but one he was glad he’d made. The massive wheeled suitcase hadn’t exactly made his trek through the mountains _easy_ , but the food and supplies inside of it was necessary to him surviving. 

The scent of sandalwood filled the temple from the candles, and he rubbed at his face tiredly, grimacing at how _filthy_ he was. 

“Right. Time to brave the freezing stream outside and clean _myself_.” 

He shook out a towel, unrolled his clean socks and sneakers, a thick thermal shirt and leggings, and then pulled out his favourite purchase. A heavy, hand-crafted cloak embroidered in gold with Loki’s sigil. He’d planned to leave it as tribute if he found the temple, but seeing it like this… 

“The old Gods and the old ways don’t deserve to be lost,” he said quietly to himself. “I am going to make sure Loki’s _not_.”

* * *

Loki woke frequently throughout the night, growing increasingly frustrated each time he looked out of his window to find it was still dark. 

The fourth time he woke up, he gave it up. He simply wasn’t going to be able to sleep tonight, so he might as well do something useful. 

His head was still tingling oddly, that itch of magic focused all along the area behind his ears and down to the base of his neck. As much as he’d like to investigate it, magic on _himself_ was always a bit questionable. Magic on himself when he was tired was a recipe for disaster. 

Grumbling under his breath, Loki rolled out of bed and ran his fingers through his hair, scrubbing his hands over his face. He was tired, but he just couldn’t sleep. 

He moved over to his bookshelf and grabbed one of the books on magic he had collected over the years, returning to the bed. If he was lucky, he would read for a little bit and fall asleep and wake up when it was morning. 

Four hours later, the sun peeked up over the horizon and Loki sent it a furious glare that did nothing to make it turn around and go back below the edge of the world. He hadn’t slept at all. And the book he had spent the rest of his night reading had offered no information he hadn’t already known about shapeshifting. 

All-in-all, a rather poor start to the day. 

* * *

Fandral snapped his laptop shut the next day with a grin. Moving himself to study via distance had been easy. He had his visa, pleased that he’d at least thought that part through. The temple had been nothing more than footnotes and mentions, but he’d been determined to find it. 

Why… he didn’t know. 

But sitting on Loki’s throne, laptop closed and nothing but the crackling of his fire in the chimney corner, he could honestly say it was the best decision he’d ever made. 

“And tonight’s the full moon,” he said to the empty temple. “I get to bleed, jerk off and chant.” He grinned to himself and tugged the thick folds of his cloak tighter around him. “Good times.” 

* * *

Loki tended to keep up on his duties as much as possible, so that when something more interesting came up, he could disappear for a few days to follow it without too much trouble. For that reason, he was able to spend the majority of his morning lazing about in his bedroom. He still couldn’t sleep - that irritating itch never left the back of his head - but he was able to relax and that didn’t drain him too terribly. 

Of course, Loki and Thor usually met their parents for lunch, to break up the day. Which was why, in the middle of Kanil’s vegetable beef stew and crusty buns, Loki found himself being woken by his brother’s hand on his shoulder. He sat up a little too quickly and nearly upset his chair, wincing when his bowl clattered loudly to the floor and dumped soup all over the flagstones. 

“Loki.” His mother’s tone was disapproving. “Did you stay up all night reading again?”

“Not intentionally,” he muttered, cleaning up the soup with a quiet brush of magic and waving off the maid who rushed to do it. “I’ve been feeling a tad… off. I barely slept last night.” 

Frigga frowned at him and reached over, cupping her palm over his forehead. Loki ducked his head and pulled away, embarrassed. “M’not sick.” 

“Well, you may want to see Eir anyway, just in case. She could give you something to help you sleep for the night, anyway.” 

Loki grabbed another of Kanil’s buns and tore it apart, smearing jelly on the inside. “I’ll think about it,” he muttered, and shoved half the bun into his mouth, not looking at any of his family. 

How embarrassing. 

* * *

Fandral shivered briefly in the cold air, but stood up straight and tall as he left his cloak folded on the seat of Loki’s throne and stood in front of the fire he’d lit outside. 

According to the old texts he’d found, he had to be naked and outside as the moon came over at midnight. He held the silver blade loosely in his hand and closed his eyes. 

“Hail to you,” he called out, voice strong and steady, his shivering stopped. “Bringer of Mighty Gifts, won by your own Cunning.” He cut his hand and flung the blood that pooled there immediately out over the fire. It hissed and sparked, and he grinned as the knife quickly followed. 

“Hail be to You, my Trickster God who incites the chaos that reveals the truth.” He took his already hard cock in hand, something about both the ritual and being outside like this, already making him hover somewhere close to coming. A few firm strokes was all it took, and Fandral gasped and shook, hot come hitting the fire. He carefully collected the rest from where it had hit his stomach and hand and threw it in, the fire spitting and flickering with odd shades of green. 

“Hail to you, Loki! The Destroyer who through their fire reveals the truth. To you I do pledge myself, body and soul, blood and bone,” he bit down hard on the corner of his tongue and hissed briefly at the pain, spitting the tiny chunk of flesh out into the fire and whooping loudly as it roared at him. 

“Hail be to you, Loki,” he whispered, “from this, your most ardent worshipper.” 

* * *

Loki was getting dressed when the ongoing sensation in the back of his head changed from a persistent tingle to an all-out burning sensation. It bit under his skin, the sensation of standing too close to a fire with his back to the blaze, and flooded from the base of his skull straight down his spine. 

He dropped the shirt he had been about to pull on, staggering under the sudden weight of _magic_ **_everywhere._ ** This wasn’t just a spell. He was being _attacked!_

He was fairly certain he shouted something, though he couldn’t have said what, because his guard burst through the door with his sword drawn. Loki was curled up on the floor, clawing at his shoulders. His whole skin was lighting up like he was being set on fire. It didn’t _hurt,_ not really, but the magic burned, under his skin and into his bones. 

Thor had heard the shouting from Loki’s rooms and gone tearing in after his guard, shoving the idiot out of the way. 

Loki was curled up on the floor, fingers tearing at his shoulders as Thor dropped to his knees beside him. “Loki? Loki, what’s happening?” 

He put a hand on Loki’s arm but instantly snatched it back. His brother’s skin was burning and _sparking_ with magic. Magic that he recognised very, very well. 

“Loki,” he said softly, “brother. You’re not being attacked. It’s worship. Someone is using a very powerful, ancient ritual to invoke you as their patron god.”

He latched onto his brother’s words like a lifeline. Not an attack. Worship. 

“It burns,” he hissed. It was lighting up his entire body, crawling under every millimeter of skin, sparking and jumping in his very nerves. “How do I stop it?” Since when did people worship _him?_ He’d never had anyone try to make him their patron before, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. 

He tilted his head back to look up at Thor, rubbing the pads of his fingers over his skin and trying not to claw at it. “Do I… what do I do?”

Thor grinned at him and helped Loki up to his feet. “Enjoy it,” he said honestly. “They’ve used a very powerful old ritual to bring out this sort of reaction in you.” He waggled his eyebrows and winked. 

“Makes a great aphrodisiac,” he laughed, and easily ducked Loki’s half-hearted swing at his head.

“That wasn’t what I needed to hear,” Sif muttered, as she stepped into the room. She gave Loki a once-over, checking him for injuries before smiling sheepishly. “I ran to your parents’ room. I thought there was an attack.” 

“So did I,” Loki muttered, rubbing his shoulders. “How do you _stand_ this?”

Sif grinned at him. “Ooh, a _worshipper?”_

Loki nodded, but it was Thor that said, “It’s one of the ancient rituals.” 

Sif made a face. “I thought that was more your thing, oh God of Fertility?” She sent Thor a grin and clapped a hand on Loki’s shoulder, yanking it back almost instantly with a shout. “Ymir’s _teeth,_ you’re like a fucking lightning rod!” She scrubbed her hand on her pants. “Seriously, go jack off or something before you explode.” 

Loki made a sound of fury. “I am not-- I will not--” His pale cheeks flushed crimson. “Get out if you’re going to be a bitch!”

Sif laughed. “That’s all the time, isn’t it?” She cocked her head, eyeing the way he was rubbing his shoulders and arms, and smiled reassuringly at him. “The intensity will fade, Lo. Don’t worry. But seriously… fucking it out helps.” 

“That is the strangest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Loki muttered. 

Sif shrugged. “I’ve picked up things here and there.” Sif had only been with them for a few decades. Prior to that, she lived all over the realms and beyond, until she had been given her apple by Idunn and shortly thereafter, invited to join the Valkyrie. It was after her training that she ended up on Asgard, at Queen Freyja’s command, and now acted as a guard for the royal family as a whole. 

“Right,” Loki muttered, scrubbing his hands along his arms. “So, crisis averted. Um… get out. Please.”

* * *

Fandral hummed contentedly as he sipped at his tea and lounged in Loki’s throne. He felt like he’d done his ritual quite well the night before, and even though his palm was throbbing and his tongue hurt like a bitch, it was worth it. 

He’d set out for the small town the ferry had arrived at as the sun started to rise, managing to make it there and back with new supplies and some shiny trinkets to leave for Loki before mid-afternoon. And if he’d spent a good hour when he got back jerking off, it was entirely not his fault. One look at the remains of his fire from the night before had been like a hotline to his cock. 

Fandral had spent a little while before sunset and explored the edge of the lake and the surrounding area, but there was nothing to really be found. Scarcely any trees, very little wildlife or flora, though he supposed that was more to do with the fact it was almost winter. So he’d made sure to stockpile firestarters, thermal blankets, and a few charcoal braziers to set about the temple room to keep it warm.

He set the empty cup down and sighed. “I wonder if this is what you guys were doing when you died,” he said softly. 

The only thing he knew of his parents was that they’d been archeologists. Killed during an excavation of a Mayan site that had gone badly wrong. Fandral had been only six months old at the time, and though he’d been taken in at first by an Aunt on his dad’s side, it’d been clear soon after that she was too old. He’d bounced from family to family before he was finally accepted to college a year ago and settled into life there. A tiny apartment, a shitty job and a failed relationship with a dickwad called _Steve_ , had all just seemed like perfect reasons to flee to Norway. 

“And now here I am. Sitting in an ancient and abandoned Temple, dedicating myself to a pagan God who I won’t see till I cark it, talking to myself,” he said with a scoff. “Yes Fandral. You are indeed living your best life.”

* * *

Loki lounged in the bathtub, glaring at the ceiling. He had followed his brother and Sif’s advice (not that he would ever tell them), and taken himself in hand the night before. It *did* help to ease the pressure of the magic, although he could still feel it under his skin. 

It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable. In fact, it was almost a pleasant kind of prickling now. It was simply unusual, unfamiliar, and he couldn’t yet manage to push it to the back of his mind and ignore it. 

The bath was soothing, though. The warm smell of sandalwood - such an odd choice for him, but he’d been craving that scent for some reason - filled his lungs with each breath and made the air seem heavy and warm. 

At least until the door crashed open and a screeching child rushed in. 

“Hel!” Loki grabbed the towel from beside the tub and yanked it into the water, covering himself. “What have I said about knocking?!”

“That it’s something that must always be done, regardless of whose room she’s barging into,” Fenris said loudly from the bedroom. “I did try, Mama. She’s just, y’know, stubborn as all-”

“All what, Fen?” 

He turned with a sheepish grin to face his Uncle Thor, and mimed zipping his lips. “I’ve got no idea what you mean, Uncle Thor.”

Uncle Thor snorted and moved into the room, setting Jörmungandr down on their mama’s bed and moving to the washroom door. Fenris moved to sit beside Jör and ran a hand over his sleeping baby brother’s back. There was a loud splash, an exasperated sigh from their mama and then a whoop as Fenris heard Uncle Thor scoop Hel up out of the tub. The sound of wet clothes hitting the tiled floor echoed out and he shook his head fondly as Uncle Thor came marching back out, a wet and naked Hel flung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

“Watch your baby brother, Fen!” Uncle Thor opened the door and disappeared down the hallway. Fen could hear the moment their Amma Frigga spotted them, though. _No one_ ever said Thor’s name that way but her. 

Fenris patted at Jör’s softly cloth-diapered bottom, and found himself wondering how in the hell laying with his head tucked down and his butt up in the air like that was even comfortable. 

“Mama?” 

“What is it, Fen?”

He bit at his lip and then sighed. “I had another weird dream,” he said quietly, knowing his mama would hear him. “I saw a pretty man in a cage, and people were hurtin’ him for his seidr. But — but he didn’t _know_ he had seidr, mama. And he was calling for _you._ ”

Hel may be the one who could see and speak with the dead, but Fenris was the one who had dreams about strangers that usually came true. He sighed and flopped down beside Jörmungandr. 

“Stupid mortals,” he muttered.

* * *

Fandral stretched his arms up over his head and groaned in pleasure at the sharp crack his back gave. 

Almost a week he’d been in the temple now, and although it was definitely getting colder, he was warm and comfortable in the home he’d made for himself here. He’d set up a small table that he worked from, his laptop only being switched on when he went into town. He had a small store of books, mostly Stephen King novels, to get him through the winter months. 

The stream was clean, and wouldn’t freeze solid, and he’d gone this morning and bought himself a small composting toilet and shower with a water heater from a camping supply store. He’d set up his altar tidily, red wine and sweet maple candies set out for Loki along with a fresh bouquet of wildflowers from the town and a small goblet of his own blood mixed with honey.

A traditional and intimate offering.

“I’m set for the fucking zombie apocalypse,” he said cheerfully. 

A look at his calendar showed that it was only two months until the winter began. The sun wouldn’t shine on Loki’s temple again until the end of February. So he planned to order in lanterns, heaters, more insulated padding to put around his bed pile and he was working on a door. 

Fandral looked down at the measurements he’d taken of the door frame, the math he’d done to make sure that it wouldn’t all come down on his head. He was making sure he didn’t leave the place modernised in any way. “If they could survive, I sure as shit can,” he decided. “A thick door, insulation on it for the winter and it all gets removed in spring. And then…” he sighed and sat back down in Loki’s throne. 

“And then I suppose I’ll have to leave.” He looked around and grinned. “Although. If you don’t have Priests or whatever, Loki… I am totally calling dibs on being your first.”

He closed his eyes and prayed quietly as he did every morning and evening.

“Praise and Hail be to you, Loki my God. May you bring light and chaos, life and love to this most faithful follower. May the offerings left find and appease you. This one offers himself in blood, bone, mind and soul to only you, Loki.”

* * *

“Just because they’re unaware of seidr doesn’t make them stupid, Fen. There was a time Asgardians were unaware of seidr, too.” There was also a time they were mortal, before Idunn grew her first golden apple tree. 

Loki scrubbed the towel through his hair and down over his skin. He knew some mortals. He’d been to Midgard a number of times and enjoyed visiting, but he couldn’t recall any he knew there or on any other planet that had seidr they didn’t know about. 

Someone he hadn’t met yet, then. 

He was tugging on his pants when the tremble of magic flickered under his skin, snapping almost happily before settling again. It seemed to happen around the same time every day, evening and morning. 

Prayers, Thor had said. 

Who in Niflheim was praying to him? There wasn’t much cause to worship the God of Mischief. People didn’t usually pray for tricksters unless they were the gods of something else, the way Hermès and Isis were. 

He finished tugging on his clothes and ran his fingers through his hair to sort it. Perhaps he would see if he could scry for this worshipper of his and see where they had set up their altar. He had to admit, he was growing more and more curious as time went on. 

Stepping out into the bedroom, Loki scooped Jormungandr up into his arms, pressing a kiss to his chubby cheek. “Good evening, my little egg-child. Did you have fun with your brother on Vanaheim?” Fen had taken Hel and Jor to visit Loki and Thor’s aunt, Freyja, the Queen of the Valkyrie and Princess of Vanaheim. “Did you get to see the flying horses?”

  
  


Thor paused in the doorway, leaning lightly against it as Jör babbled happily and unintelligibly to his mama, pudgy little fingers pressed up against Loki’s face as he did. 

He grinned when Loki caught his eye, though, and he saw the flickering of magic in Loki’s. 

“They’re still praying daily then?” 

* * *

“Well. That did _not_ go to plan.” 

Fandral scrubbed his towel over his face and glared down at the ruined pot of instant ramen noodles he’d been waiting for. 

He’d sighed and wriggled his fingers at the fire, an embarrassing imitation of some childhood cartoon, and yelled quite loudly, “Incendio!” while he focused on the pot. 

And it had _exploded_. 

“What the fuck,” he muttered and sighed. “Oh well. Guess I’ll just… sleep.”

* * *

“Every morning and evening,” Loki said, smiling at his brother. “I was thinking of scrying them to see if I could find where they’re from. Although I’m not sure what I’d do then.” 

Jor shoved his fingers up Loki’s nose then, and he caught the tiny hands in his. “Hungry, I see. Let’s find something a tad more appetizing, hm?” 

He rubbed his son’s tiny hands between his fingers as he headed out the door, unsurprised when Fen chose to stay behind, sprawled across the bed. Wrangling Loki’s two youngest was a tiring job. 

“Do you interact with your worshippers often?” he asked Thor as they made their way to the kitchens. “I know you _used_ to, but times have changed.”

Thor grinned and nodded. “Occasionally,” he said cheerfully and scooped Jör up out of Loki’s arms, giving him a brass ring from his pocket to gnaw on. “I’m still worshipped by many in the old countries of our people. Sometimes, if a prayer or a rite is strong enough, I will roll my thunder or send a dream.” 

He poked Jörmungandr in the nose softly. “But it is the women who pray to me for fertility who I do my best to aid. For there is no prayer like that of a mother’s.” Thor smiled gently at Loki as they walked. “Perhaps you should scry for them. It’s an honour for them to choose to worship us, to dedicate themselves to our name. And for them to have done so in such an ancient rite,” he shrugged. 

“Blood, bone, soul and mind,” he murmured. “Tis the strongest form of worship there is.”

Dinner was a good, if messy, affair. Loki was convinced that Jor ended up with more food on him than inside his stomach. Quite a bit of Kanil’s best puréed carrots ended up in Loki’s hair. And Thor’s, although his brother was far too pleased by such a thing, exalting over the strength of his nephew’s arms and his superior aim. 

He took it in stride. Since bringing his three younger children home, he had been more amused than anything by the way his brother turned into an absolute puddle in the face of Jor and Hel. 

He happily handed the two youngest off for Thor to spoil through the evening, and listened in amusement to Hel’s demands for stories. Loki had to admit that Thor told some of the very best. 

Fen had retreated for the evening. Loki wasn’t certain if his wolf-son had a love he was attempting to keep secret or if he was off adventuring. Or perhaps just catching up on sleep, if his dreams had been bothering him again. 

His eldest son, Sleipnir, would shortly be getting up to cover the night shift in the healing wing. Which meant, barring any emergencies, Loki would have the night to himself. 

Scrying didn’t require a great deal. There were multiple ways to perform the ritual. Some used a map and a pendulum. Others candles and a mirror. Some made due with just a bowl of water. 

Loki, pandering to his chaotic nature, found he preferred a mix of the three, although due to his frequent use of ritualistic magic, he always had the items on hand. 

Loki settled a shallow bowl of moon water there, in the center of four candles that marked the four corners of the compass, and the four original elements. The fifth element - Ether, or Spirit - Loki marked with a crystal. Then he cupped his hands around the lip of the bowl and half-closed his eyes. 

The tingling burn beneath his skin snapped and sparked, and Loki concentrated on it. It had not been so long ago - only a couple hours - that he had felt his worshipper’s prayer. He focused on that lingering feeling of enhanced magic that flowed under his skin and in his bones. 

At first, nothing happened, by Loki didn’t let himself be deterred. He continued to focus on the sensation. Then he stretched a bit further, trying to reach their source, wondering in his mind - “Who? Who are you? Where are you?” 

The room seemed to simultaneously darken and brighten. The flames on the candles flickered and Loki felt the magic under his skin spark in response as the two spells recognized each other. 

The water - clear and crystalline - began to swirl with what first looked like dirt or smoke, but gradually took form as the interior of a stone room. 

A very old stone room. 

With a very old, very ostentatious throne of solid gold at its center. 

“Oh, Ymir’s mercy.” The image wavered and the water cleared again. Loki dropped his head to the desk, waving a hand absently to blow out the candles before they caught his hair on fire. 

Norway. 

His temple in Norway. 

He had built that damn thing himself. Carved it into the mountainside and told the people of the nearby village that he was a worshipper of Loki, the clever God of Mischief, who could lie to anyone and never be caught. It had been during the time when he had begun learning that Thor had a lot of followers. When jealousy reared its terribly ugly head because Loki had not had any. 

And he had gained none by boasting in the villages - there had been more then than there were now, and more people who followed the Norse Gods. 

None who followed Loki, however. 

Oh, he’d gained a few in the years that followed. Centuries, really. People who sought help from a mischief-maker. And, in later years, those who sought acceptance from a god who birthed “monsters” and loved a girl who had a “deformed” face. A god who was sometimes a man and sometimes a woman, and who had loved both - so the stories told. 

And he’d tried to help those who came to him - not always successfully or well - but he’d never had a _follower._ He’d never burned the way he did with this one. 

And he’d thought that the Norway temple, with its throne born of his own arrogant self-importance, would have been knocked down long before now. Or at least rotted to ruin. 

Apparently not. 

Loki stared at the bowl of water, thinking. 

Norway.

He knew _where._ Now what did he _do?_

* * *

Fandral snuffled and wiped his dripping nose on his sleeve, again, and pulled the little wagon cart behind him and into the temple. 

A full month now he’d been here. The temple was immaculate, the door fixed and in place with the extra insulated pads he’d had the camping store order in for him from Oslo. He kept his altar to Loki freshly cleaned, the flowers exchanged for boughs of Rowan and Birch as the winter set in. He’d taken to carting supplies back in the little wagon, and the locals all thought him an amusing, if very strange, man. 

“I’m like Belle,” he’d said cheerfully to the lady in the store this morning. “I’m the outcast looking for my Beast.” 

The look she’d given him had been priceless. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was just that his Norweigan was _that_ bad, or she simply hadn’t understood the reference. 

He took his time setting the stuff away, and stood back with a satisfied grin on his face. He’d managed to get everything the survival books recommended, and then doubled it. The weird looks had all been worth it. 

“I am officially the only HighPriest of the Temple of Loki,” he declared loudly. 

* * *

Loki mulled over what he had learned all the next day, through the dinner, until Sif finally cornered him on his way to give Jor a bath. 

“Honestly, Loki, I could have stolen your pants and you wouldn’t have noticed me.” 

“Yes I would’ve.” He grinned at her. “I’m not wearing any underwear.“

“Ugh.” He laughed at her and she shoved him lightly in the shoulder. “You’ve been half on Midgard all day. Are you _going_ or aren’t you?”

He made a face and stepped around her and into his rooms. “Why would I go?”

Undeterred, Sif followed him, although whatever she said was drowned out by Jor’s excited shrieks of “Baf! Baf! Baf!” 

“Yes, Jor, we’re getting a bath. Now let Aunt Sif talk.” 

Jor squealed excitedly as Loki pushed through to the washroom, already filled with steam from the full tub. Little plastic boats bobbed on top of the water and somewhere in the mess, there was a submarine. 

Loki slipped off Jor’s diaper and lowered him into the water. He blinked away the water as his son splashed uproariously. 

The soft skin under his fingers turned into tiny scales as Jor turned into his snake form and went slithering through the water, curling tight around one of the plastic boats and hissing as he sunk it down in the water. 

“My fearsome sea serpent,” Loki teased. He turned to Sif, startled to find her standing in the doorway to the washroom. “Sif?” She jerked her head up, eyes refocusing. “You okay?” 

Her grin was a little strained. “I’m still always a little surprised. _Aunt Sif.”_ She ducked her head, chuckling. 

Loki smiled gently at her. Sif used to have a sister, as he understood, but she had died when they were children. He wasn’t sure how and he didn’t ask. 

“I haven’t even seen the person worshipping me. Just the temple. I got distracted.” He stuck his fingers in the tub and wiggled them, lifting his hand out when little teeth latched on. “Jor, this is bath time, not swim time.” And back down into the tub he went. It was going to be one of those nights. 

“Are you going to go?” 

Loki shrugged. “I mean... maybe. But why? So I have a worshipper. No different than you now.” 

Sif sat down on the edge of their tub. “There is a small difference.”

“Hm?” 

“Your curiosity will _eat you alive.”_

* * *

“Hail be —- be to- _ugh_ ,” Fandral turned his head away from the altar to hack into the sleeve of his robe for a minute before he wiped his nose with his handkerchief and tried again. His voice was barely anything more than a rough as fuck whisper, his cold having happily mutated itself into a flu. 

“Y’know what,” he rasped our after another failed attempt at prayer. “I’m just… gonna leave it at thank you and you rock, Loki.” 

He bent over and blew the sandalwood candles out and shuffled over to Loki’s throne, where he’d tossed his thick wool blankets and the battered old copy of _Pet Sematary_ he was reading. A pile of used tissues at the base and his thermos were waiting for him. 

Fandral curled himself up in the throne and sighed. 

* * *

Sif was right. His curiosity _would_ eat him alive. He never could leave a mystery alone for long, because he always wanted to solve it. This was no different. 

Sif was smirking when she opened the door to her rooms a couple hours later. 

“Shut up,” Loki muttered, handing over a sleeping Jor. “I promise I won’t be gone long.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” She pressed a soft kiss onto the little boy’s head. “I like watching him.” 

Loki smiled at her and pressed a kiss to her cheek, before opening a doorway to Yggdrasil and climbing onto her branches. 

Norway was a snowy paradise when he arrived outside his temple. The world was blanketed in winter and the sun had moved on for a few months. It was a clear night and the stars stretched across the sky in crowded swirls and streaks of light. Midgard didn’t have many places left like this, where light pollution hadn’t ruined their view of the universe. Here, though, he hoped this never changed. 

The temple had a new door and it was terribly cold for mere mortals, so Loki didn’t even bother opening it. He stepped onto Yggdrasil’s branch and off just inside the temple. 

It was dark. There was only a small lantern letting out a soft glow from near his throne and the dim and cooling embers of a fire in the little fireplace. Loki had little trouble seeing in the dim light, and he could see the mound of blankets curled around the sleeping man. Barely more than a boy, really. Raspy breathing and quiet coughs reached his ears. A familiar sound even in the winters of Asgard. 

Loki wandered on silent feet to the small altar he could feel burning with magic. There was a goblet filled with blood and honey. Loki blinked at it in surprise before dipping the tips of his fingers in and licking them. Sweet and salty, and the magic of the offering tingled on his tongue. Loki ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth and took in the other offerings. 

Sweet maple candies. Red wine. Branches of Rowan and Birch. 

Loki touched a finger to each of the branches. There was powerful magic in trees. Each of them were born from Yggdrasil, after all, and made in her image. Rowan, especially, was a tree of magic. 

He lifted one of the branches down quietly, running his hands over it. It took very little effort to shape it as he wanted. He left most of the form as it was, but inscribed runes along the branch, twisting them in circles around the knots in the wood. The long, thin end of the branch where it split into smaller parts like fingers, he curled gently, and wrapped them around an orb of his seidr, deep green and as large as his fist. 

It glowed continuously and gave off a steady warmth, like a fire. It was a cold night, after all. 

He moved over to the throne, resting the Rowan staff against the arm of the chair so the seidr orb at its top would warm the man sleeping there. His nose was red from constant abuse and his cheeks flushed, but he had pretty features. High cheekbones and dark gold hair. A neatly trimmed beard and an elegant nose, pointed and strong. 

Loki touched his hair, running his fingers over the soft strands. “I’ll come visit again,” he whispered, flicking his fingers to light a fire in the hearth that would keep burning. “You get well now, hm? Can’t have my only worshipper catching pneumonia.” 

He watched the man sleep for a few more minutes before moving away. He wasn’t sure what made him move back to the altar, but he found himself there again, lifting one of the maple candies to his mouth. 

He loved sweets. All tricksters did. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and stepped onto a branch of Yggdrasil and made his way back to Asgard. 

Perhaps he’d come back in a few days and see how the man was doing. After all, he still didn’t know his name.

* * *

Fandral had turned the temple inside out and upside down to try and work out who had let themselves in while he was sleeping.

But the weird glowy stick kept glowing, and the candies had been moved. 

He scratched at his chin, grateful that the flu had eased in the last couple of weeks. “Well, there’s five days till Yule,” he said quietly. “Maybe it was really you, huh?”

* * *

“If you dip any deeper into those thoughts, you’ll get lost.”

“Hm?” Loki looked up at the head healer, his mind distracted. “Eir, you’re a goddess.”

“Nice of you to notice.” 

“Is it weird for a god to give their worshipper a gift?” 

The woman looked at him. Eir had been a constant fixture in his life growing up on Asgard. Short grey hair and a temper that could make a dragon flee, she was an absolute terror when on a rage. She had also been the Goddess of Medicine since before Odin was even born, and ruled over Asgard’s healing halls with the same territorial fury that had Kanil ruling the kitchens. Asgard could survive without a king, but it would fall without either of these two women. 

“Do you mean a gift for Yule?” 

“No... well, yes. Since Yule is here. But a gift in general. Is that allowed?” He’d been thinking about it for a while. The staff he had left for his worshipper had been more of a thank you for his service, and a way to help the man heal from his cold. But it had been made from one of the man’s offerings, so Loki didn’t really think it counted as a _gift._

“You’re the god he’s worshipping, Loki. How you interact with your followers is your choice. No one else can police that.” 

Loki’s frown deepened. “There’s not... like a rule book, or something?” 

Eir smirked at him. “The most important lessons in life can’t be learned from a book.” 

His shoulders sagged. “Father said the same thing.” Although in a slightly different fashion, and for different reasons. “What about... meeting them? Can I do that?” 

“Why not? Mind you, if you put yourself in danger, I’ll fix you up, then break your skull.” She patted his cheek. “But you can respond to your worshippers however you like, sweet boy. They want _you._ So be you.” 

She finished smearing cream over the burn scars on his palms from a potion that he’d been brewing while distracted - a terrible decision that he knew better than to make. Wrapping them with bandages, she tied them off. “There. A couple hours of _actual rest_ and you’ll be good as new. And I mean it, Loki. _Rest._ Spend the time thinking of how you want to respond to your follower.” 

Loki nodded. “Thanks, Eir.” 

He made his way back to his rooms, thoughts wandering. Yule was coming up in just a few short days and there had been no evidence in his temple that the man there was planning on leaving to visit family, or expecting any to visit him. 

Loki, of course, would have obligations here on Asgard. Idunn’s Yule Festival was a busy time, filled with food and drink and merriment. And Loki would be spending it with his family. 

But the Eve of Yule was fairly clear, up until the sun set. If Loki went in the morning, early, it would be... around midday on Midgard. In Norway, at least. 

But he wasn’t sure he wanted to go as _Loki,_ yet. But he didn’t want to leave his follower alone. That seemed cruel, knowing that he _was_ alone. No family and no feasting? 

Feasting. Now there was an idea. 

Loki changed course and headed for the kitchens. He could rest next to the fire as he talked to Kanil. He hoped she wouldn’t mind cooking for one more.

* * *

Fandral sat quietly in front of the fire and flicked the pages of his dog-eared photo album carefully. There were exactly five photos in it. 

Two of his parents, one of a dog he’d been allowed to have for all of five minutes before he was shipped off to the next long-lost relatives, one of his shitty apartment and one of he and Steve last Christmas. 

Steve was his longest relationship. A whole eight months. They’d met during the orientation day for their university and started dating almost right away.

And then three weeks before his spontaneous trip to Norway, which Steve was supposed to join him on, he’d woken up to find all Steve’s stuff gone. His phone number changed and he was blocked from his social media. 

‘Ghosting’ was what the girls at his work had called it. 

Fandral ran a fingertip over the sharp line of Steve’s jaw and then tossed the photo into the fire. 

“If you’re listening, Loki,” he said softly. “I hope your Yule is filled with warmth and family. I hope you've never had to know the pain of waking up one day to find you’ve been left again. To be… unworthy of love.” He bit down on the side of his thumb to draw blood and flicked it over the curling edges of Steve’s photo. “If you ever find yourself in Chicago, my God… his name was Steve.”

Fandral wrapped his blanket tighter around his shoulders and let himself cry. 

Just a little. 

Christmas had always sucked. Being an orphan and shuffled awkwardly between families, imposing on their traditions and always feeling out of place and unwanted. He’d shared all of that with Steve.

_”Don’t worry baby,” Steve had whispered to him. “This is our first of many, I promise. I love you.”_

“Love is for children,” Fandral muttered thickly into his blankets.

* * *

“Why can’t I come?” Hel was following him around his room as he prepared his things to leave for Midgard. Her bright pink dress glittered in the light of the candles he had lit and she kept twirling back and forth so the skirts spun. “I promise I’ll be good, Mama.” 

“I know you would be good,” Loki told her, bending down to smile at her. “But I’m going in disguise and you, my darling, are very noticeable.” He ran his fingers down the side of her face that was pure white bone. “Besides, I don’t know what he’s like yet, and I won’t put you in danger. Maybe you can come with me when I go as myself?” 

Hel let out a huge sigh. “All right. If you _have to.”_ She eyed the basket of food he was taking with him. It was one of Kanil’s preservation baskets that kept hot food hot and cold food cold and never let anything spoil. “You’re taking lots of stuff.” 

“It’s very cold in Norway. I don’t think he’ll have much chance to leave for food.” 

“Oh.” She gnawing on her fingertips. “Did you take him some sweets? Sweets is important on Yule!” 

Loki smirked at her. “Am I the sort to forget sweets?” But she was not appeased. She stomped over to the table where a bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries had been set out for her. “Here, Mama! He needs some sweets! Fruity sweets!” 

Loki caught the bowl as it was nearly thrown into his chest. “Are you sure, darling? Kanil made these special for you.” 

“I have more.” She grinned at him and he wondered where exactly she had hidden the rest of the strawberries. 

“I’m sure he’ll be very pleased at your gift.” He bent down and kissed her forehead. “Do you promise to be good for your Uncle Thor and Aunt Sif?”

“Yes, Mama. Aunt Sif says we get to help decorate you and Uncle Thor’s tree.” The golden apple tree that had given its apples to Thor and Loki had also given Sif hers, but it had yet to sprout any others. It had become _their_ tree and they decorated it each Yule. 

“That sounds lovely, Hel.” 

She nodded, watching him as he picked up the basket. He winked at her and shifted his clothes with a thought from the green and gold armor and cape he preferred to black slacks and dark green shirt suitable for Midgard. The thick fur cloak was black and lined with wolf fur, warm for the winter. It would keep him from accidentally shifting to his Winter form if he got too cold. 

“I’ll be back in time for dinner,” he promised. “And we’ll open gifts tonight before Idunn’s festival starts, okay?” 

“Okay!” Hel bounced on her feet. 

Loki kissed her once more, then climbed onto Yggdrasil’s branches and set off for Midgard. 

He had decided not to change his physical appearance beyond his clothes. It wasn’t like any of Midgard’s mythology could decide on what he looked like. Half the time, he was presumed to be a redhead. 

His boots crunched in the snow as he stepped off of Yggdrasil and he changed the shape of Kanil’s basket into a backpack, slinging it over one shoulder as he made his way to the door of his temple and shoved against it. 

It groaned angrily, fighting against being opened and Loki couldn’t blame it. Being Jotun, the cold didn’t bother him too much, but he could still feel it and it was a bitter day, especially with the wind. 

The door had no hope of withstanding against his strength, however, and he shoved it open, stepping inside and very quickly forcing it closed again. The sudden lack of wind made everything seem both quieter and somehow _colder,_ and Loki took a moment to shake the snow from his head and wipe it from his cloak. 

He looked up to find the man sitting before the fire staring at him, his face streaked with tears. Now that just wouldn’t do. 

“Good afternoon!” Loki called cheerfully. “Uh... Santa says hi?”

“Santa,” Fandral repeated stupidly. “Um. Right. Look, I didn’t know - I’ll just…” he tugged his blankets around his shoulders and got unsteadily to his feet. 

Fucking Steve Rogers and his stupid face. Fuck Chicago, and America and his entire life. He sighed and tugged at his hair for a moment.

“I’m gonna just step outside and let you make your tributes and worship,” he said softly. “Uh, I um. The old offerings. I didn’t — I mean that they were all rotted and ruined but I kept the ones that weren’t so bad.” He pointed at the canvas boxes at the back of the temple. “I’ve spent almost two and a half months here. I didn’t know anyone else even knew it existed. I found — there was a footnote in my text book, and Loki was just so intriguing and there was no information and my asshole boyfriend left me and then it was just, just _easier_ to come here and Jesus Christ I’m fucking _rambling._ ”

He bit his tongue to force himself to _just stop talking_ and shuffled over to where his boots and the spare lanterns were kept. He grabbed his scarf and beanie, his mittens and the heavy insulated coat. 

The man with the bag was just staring at him, and Fandral ducked his head in shame. Poor dude just wants to leave his tribute and lay worship to the most awesome and under appreciated God, and here Fandral was rambling on and babbling at him.

Fandral slid his feet into his boots, and wiped at his wet face. Goddamn it, Steve. He’d thought surely he’d shed enough tears for that prick. 

“Just, um. Please don’t steal my things? It’s - it’s snowed in. I can’t get to the town, and most of them are gone now till Spring. I swear, whatever you leave, I won’t eat. Or touch. Cause that bag smells amazing, dude.” He licked his lips and nodded and headed to the door.

“You do know it’s below zero out there and cold as... as...” Loki tried to think of something Midgardian and cold. “An ice box.” That... was _stupid._

He rubbed his face. “Look, I’m... I’m not performing an ancient ritual tonight.“ The exhausted and pained look the other man sent him had him changing tactics. “All right... would you believe...” _I’m one of Santa’s elves._ “I was sent by Loki? Because it’s almost Yule and his only follower is alone and that just won’t do.” 

He shifted the basket-turned-backpack from his shoulder. “And I brought food to share. Please don’t go outside. It’s cold and you’ll get sick.”

Fandral blinked at him. Quite possibly the prettiest man he’d ever seen and he was… 

He sighed. “It was you, wasn’t it,” he said flatly. “You snuck in when I was sick and left the weird glow stick. And now you’re here to, what? Poke fun at the weirdo living in a temple?” 

Fandral laughed quietly, and it wasn’t a good sound. “Just… go, yeah? I get it. I’m pitiful. Thanks bro, job well done. Go home and celebrate with your family.”

Loki stared at the man. This was not going at all how he expected. Perhaps he should have disguised himself as an elf. 

Then again...

“I swear to... Thor, Loki’s brother and God of Thunder, that I am not lying when I say I’m here on behalf of Loki.” There was a loud crack of thunder that snapped outside, and then it began to hail. “And please don’t go out in that. Hail is bad for your skin. And cranium.”

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to think of some way to prove his not quite entirely truthful claim. “Okay, don’t... run, okay? I promise I’m not here to hurt you.” Far from it. 

It was easy, with the memory of the cold still on his skin, to shift his form to the familiar blue of his heritage. It had only been a few years since his parents sat he and Thor down and told him the truth of his birth and his being given to Asgard as part of peace treaties, but he had long since become accustomed to the raised markings and long, thin horns of the form his children could also take. 

He sat the bag of food down in front of him and took a careful step back as he raised his hands. If nothing else, he could leave the food with his follower to eat and go back home. Although he had hoped to keep him company. “I come in peace?”

“You’re a Jotnnar.” The ground was very cold and hard underneath his ass and he realised he’d fallen onto it. “Huh.” 

He’d seen the pictures and read the texts about the fearsome snow giants who roamed the world of Jotunheimr and fought the Aesir for fun.

“I have gone insane,” he decided. There was no other explanation for - for _any of it_. “There’s… I lost my mind when Steve left. Why else would I come to Norway and live in a temple for a god that… that I didn’t know anything about?!” 

He sighed and closed his eyes. “And now I’m seeing and smelling food and Jotnnar because it’s Yule and I’m the pathetic orphan that Dickens romanticised. Awesome, dude. Just - just fucking awesome.”

Fandral waved a hand at the throne. “May as well take the only seat.”

Loki eyed the throne, then snorted. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? 

“I’ll save that for Loki whenever he comes to visit you.” He sat down on the ground across from the other man - slowly, so as not to startle him. “If you can see it and smell it, then you can probably also taste it. We can hope, anyway.” 

He opened the bag and began to pull out the many, many, _many_ boxes of food that Kanil had filled it with. That woman loved to feed people. 

“So, I didn’t expect you to know what the Jotnar were.” He pulled out two glasses and poured mulled wine for each of them. “I was more expecting claims of my being a demon.”

He handed the other man a plate and some utensils. “I think there’s a little bit of everything here, so take whatever you like. I know she packed some venison and boar and there’s probably these little weird birds that are like your ducks but noisier. They taste good, though. And-“ He pulled an entire bowl of fresh fruits - apples and peaches, nectarines and lemons and more - from the backpack. “Worst part of winter is the lack of fresh fruits.”

Fandral eyed the plate and glass in his hand and set them down. They were pretty good for a hallucination. 

“I’m pretty sure I’ve caught a flu or something again,” he said to the Jotnar. “This is a fever dream. Or I’m dead. I went mad, moved to an ancient and abandoned temple in Norway because it _called to me_ and I died. Didn’t I? If I was dead though, there’d be my favourite food in the entire universe. And seeing as how you've yet to pull out chocolate covered strawberries, I’m not dead. Just mad. What’s your name anyway, hallucination dude?”

Fandral very slowly shoved three fingers into his mouth and bit down to make himself be quiet. He’d always been a nervous babbler. 

_Steve_ had thought it was adorable. 

The fact he was gone said a lot about it.

“Cwlwm,” Loki said, the word cracking over his tongue like ice shifting. It was really just his name’s meaning translated into the Jotnar language, but since the man was as unlikely to know it as he was able to speak it, Loki wasn’t afraid to give it. 

“You can call me Vinur, though. And I hate to make you continue to believe you’re dead, but...” He lifted the bowl of chocolate covered strawberries from the bag that Hel had demanded he take. “At least you’ll feast well?” 

He set the bowl down in front of the other man and carefully reached out and caught his wrist, drawing his fingers out of his mouth. “I’m pretty sure I’m not a hallucination, by the way. At least I seem real to me.” He offered a small smile. “What’s your name?”

Fandral gawked at the hand on his wrist and then blinked hard at it. 

Jesus fuck. Had no one seriously touched him since Steve left?

“Fandral,” he whispered. “Smith. Fandral Smith. My parents weren’t married when they died and I got bounced around a lot and both mom and dad’s families said I couldn’t take their name so—” he stopped and sighed. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Vi-Vinur? Uh wow. So. You’re really real.” He brought his other hand up slowly and hesitated just shy of touching him. “Can I trace your markings or is that a cultural no-no? Also I’ve seen enough Supernatural to know you’re not a demon.” He nodded at the door. “There’s rock salt taped above the door,” he said cheerfully.

Loki laughed at that and looked toward the door. There was indeed a thick strip of tape over the top of the door, fastening the rock salt in place. 

“A good precaution.” He smiled gently at Fandral, turning his hand to clasp the other man’s properly. “It’s very nice to meet you. You can trace my markings, just don’t touch my horns.”

Fandral couldn’t help the way his eyes instantly looked to the horns. “So pretty,” he murmured. They curved slightly backwards from Vinur’s head, twisting and marked with the same patterns as his skin, though these were seemingly inlaid with gold. 

The markings on his hand were pretty too. He traced them softly, marveling at the cool and soft skin beneath his fingers. Little dots and circles, half moons and waves. 

“The books didn’t say the Jotnar were beautiful,” he said quietly. “They describe you as… well. Nothing flattering, Vinur. And your eyes are more rubies than blood.”

He smiled up at him, the goofy crooked thing he knew he got when he was excited about something, and swiped the last of the tears from his cheeks. 

“I, um. I’ve never celebrated Yule. Is there… I mean, I want to give something special to Loki. I’m probably doing this whole thing _wrong._ Do you know if there’s something I should do?”

“I think we’re referenced as trolls a time or two,” Loki said, chuckling. He could find that funny now, although it hadn’t been when he first found out about his heritage. 

“To be fair to your historians, the Jotnar invaded Midgard a millennia ago. I think between vague records of attacking creatures and cellular memory, we became something of a... I think the term is Boogeyman?” 

He tilted his head slightly in a conciliatory gesture toward the past. “Although I’m also rather short for a Jotun. My father is almost eight feet tall.” 

Fandral’s fingertips were were soft. Smooth. Not the hands of a warrior. A scholar, perhaps. Or... Midgard called them students, he thought. He’d have to ask. 

“On Jotunheimr, and the other realms, there are usually festivals to celebrate Yule. A lot of feasting, and people will share stories - cultural or their own battle stories. But individual Yule is much like individual worship.” He smiled as he recounted Eir’s advice. “You can’t do it wrong. It’s yours to perform as you think best. I’m sure Loki will appreciate anything you have to offer him. I know he appreciates that you’re here at all. You’re his first follower, you know.”

“His _first?”_ Fandral shook his head, hand tightening on Vinur’s without noticing as he leant forward. “No way! He’s badass! He plays tricks, or Lessons, to teach a point to someone when they’re being a douche. There’s even notations about how he influenced the modern concept of what a practical joke is. And, I read in a few older texts I got my hands on that he has these super cute kids, one of them's a snake, ones a wolf and there’s a little girl! And a horse with like, eight legs!” 

Fandral sat back and sighed. “He’s a badass, God. And when I saw all that… about the kids I mean, I think that’s what drew me to him. ‘Cause it made me think that — that maybe he was kinda like a God for weird kids, he wouldn’t mind one more as a follower. I always wanted to adopt a kid,” he said quietly. “I wanted to find a kid with a life like mine and make it better for them.”

He shrugged and looked up at Vinur. “But Steve left and the adoption process fell through. So. Why aren’t you with your family?”

Loki tightened his hand on Fandral’s. His family had accepted his children openly. Thor adored them and he had never seen his father so doting as when Hel was sitting on his lap asking a million questions. But there were people in Asgard who feared them for their differences, and he had found himself sought out, on occasion, by those who weren’t as accepted for who they were. 

Sif had been like that, at first. At least until his father made it clear that women absolutely could be warriors and he wouldn’t hear anything against them or the Valkyrie. 

“There’s something close to a twelve hour time difference between Norway and my realm. It’s still morning there. I’ll be returning in time for dinner, but Loki didn’t want you to be alone. And you deserved a feast of your own. You’re very kind, Fandral. And very intelligent. Most people get caught up in the God of Lies bit and the offensiveness of some of the Tricks. They see Loki as a monster himself, not anyone good. I’m glad you’re different. And I’m sorry things fell through for you.”

“Thank you,” he said softly. “I guess he wasn’t as serious about forever as I was, is all.”

Fandral bit at his lip. “I still… I mean, I’m grateful but… do you guys have trees and stuff? I saw some of the cousins decorating theirs some years. It always seemed like a family thing?” He wriggled and reached his hand for the closest thing on his plate, not even realising he hadn’t let go of Vinur’s hand yet, and turned the little berry over and over. 

“I don’t want you to miss out on your family because of me,” he whispered. “Honestly, I’m fine. You should go and hang out with them. I’ve got books and stuff.”

“We don’t decorate trees inside. That’s more of a Celtic tradition. Besides, I’m rather fond of present company, if you don’t mind. Besides, I’m curious.” He looked around the temple. “You’ve done a lot of work here, none of it cheap or easy. What brought you to this place? I honestly didn’t know it was still standing.”

Fandral grinned at him. “I’m fond of you already too!” 

He followed the Jotnar’s gaze and shrugged one shoulder, popping the little berry in his mouth. “Holy shit,” he mumbled, “it tastes like bubblegum. What the fuck.”

Fandral swallowed it and reached for another before he answered. “Originally, it was supposed to be Steve and I. We were gonna come and find the temple, see the sights, yada yada. Instead, he vanished and I decided to come here anyway. It wasn’t until I arrived in Oslo that I decided I wanted to tidy it up if I found it. As for the money thing… well.” He grinned and shrugged again. 

“I quit my job and surrendered the lease on my shitty apartment. So I’m here with my savings and the inheritance that my ‘family’,” he couldn’t help the finger quotes with that word, “all thought I didn’t deserve.” 

He chewed on the berry for a moment and then sighed. “My parents were archeologists. Killed when a Mayan structure collapsed on their dig site. I — I’ve kind of always loved history, and I s’pose that’s why. But, I prefer mythology to ancient history. And something about this place…”

He’d read the letter his mother had left him with her will, written when he was hours old. 

_‘Find your passion in the place that calls to your heart, little dove.’_

“It called to me.”

“Old magic can do that,” Loki said softly. “I’m sorry about your family. And about the one who hurt you.” Steve, he was called. 

Loki would find him and teach him not to be so casual with freely given hearts. 

“I hope this place has brought you some peace. I like what you’ve done with it. It looks loved.” It looked like a real temple now. Not just a testament to his own arrogance, but a _real_ temple. 

“Are you planning to stay?” The question was out before he’d really even thought about it. “Will you make a home here?”

Fandral nodded eagerly. “For as long as the locals will let me. I love it here. I’ve switched my studies to distance, though I’m considering letting them go. I wish I’d been born here in Norway. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about my visa expiring.”

He sighed and nodded at Vinur. “You’re lucky. You can magic yourself here and there. I’ve only got about a year left.”

Loki twisted his hands together, working a little quiet magic. He didn’t know how Midgardian Visas worked, but he was talented at manipulation and misdirection. 

“What are you studying? And what stone marks your birth?”

“Mythology. Though… it was supposed to be nursing. I wanted to be a doctor but it’s too much money. And it’s an emerald, ‘cause my birthday is May sixth.” He grinned at Vinur. “Guess it was destiny that I wound up as Loki’s follower. My birthstone is his colour!”

“So it is.” It was easy to craft his seidr into links of gold. Tinged with the green of his magic, they hummed as he pulled each one into the world and gave it shape and form. 

“Have you considered noting your adventures here? Your search for the temple and finding Loki?” He nodded at the staff leaning against the throne. “Being visited by a god. There aren’t many on Midgard outside of similar pursuits who know us beyond demons and devils. You could remind them. I know Loki would dearly love to read about your journey. It would no doubt find a place on the shelves of Asgard’s library.”

He pulled an emerald from one of his seidr pockets. Raw and uncut, it wasn’t polished or carved into shape, but nonetheless shone with its own beauty and light. Loki manipulated the chain of seidr gold to flow through the crystal, but otherwise didn’t hide the stone. 

He slipped the chain over Fandral’s head, the stone dangling over his heart. “So long as you wear this, you will belong on whatever soil your feet touch. No one will question you, now or in a year.” 

He smiled gently at Fandral. “Don’t give up on your dreams, even if it takes time to reach them. You’ll find a way.”

“Holy fucking _shitballs_ ,” he breathed. “You -- you full on Harry Potter’d that!” 

He gaped down at the emerald for a long moment, Vinur quietly picking through the food. A single shaking finger tapped at it, and he reached his other hand to grasp roughly at the front of Vinur’s tunic. 

“Does this mean I can _stay_? Like, here? I can stay and just - just be Loki’s?” He bit his lip and sniffed. “It means I can belong somewhere?”

He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Fandral’s, closing his eyes. This felt... right. This man here in his temple. It was like the walls of this place had been waiting centuries just for him. 

“I can say with absolute certainty that Loki wants you to stay.” He opened his eyes and pulled back so he could see the other man fully. “He wants you to consider this your home. And he is glad to be yours.”

Fandral gave him a tired smile. “I think there’s secret booze in those berries. I’m getting very emotional now, and that usually only happens when I’ve been drinking.” 

He looked around the temple and felt… like he’d come _home_ . “If you uh, if you see him? Loki I mean. Could you tell him I said thank you for sending you? This is the best Yule, Christmas - _whatever_ , I’ve ever had.”

Loki smiled brightly. “I will tell him you said so. He’ll be glad to hear it. Now.” He sat up straight and settled his hands in his lap. “I told you Yule celebrations consist of feasting and stories.” He spread his arms. “You have your feast. What story do you want to hear? I know them all.” 

“Loki’s children,” he said immediately and pulled the plate closer. “All the texts disagreed over whether they exist or not.” He picked little bun looking thing up and bit into the corner, pleased to taste nothing but somehow still warm butter and cheese. “Oh wow, this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

Fandral winked up at Vinur. “I may have to follow you home if you eat like this everyday!”

“Cook Kanil would be positively delighted if you did. She enjoyed making everything for you, and I’ve never had a bad meal from her hands.” He grinned. “She makes the best blueberry danishes in the universe, and I’d know. I’ve visited at least half of it.” 

He settled back, pleased that Fandral was focusing on eating. He was far too thin and the food would warm him. 

“The texts have some of it right. Loki has four children: Sleipnir, Fenrisulfr, Jormungandr, and Hel. The myths about his supposed wife Sigyn and sons Narfi and Vali are as false as that ridiculous story about him being chained to a rock by his son’s entrails and poison dripped onto his chest. There was never a snake in existence that would dare to poison Loki. He was always the snake doing the poisoning. He bit Thor once.” He flapped his hand. “But that’s another story. 

“Loki was a shapeshifter and all of his children inherited this talent. Sleipnir was born an eight-legged horse with a gorgeous white and grey patterned coat. He is the fastest horse in the Nine Realms and beyond, and can travel the branches of Yggdrasil at his leisure. He can also shapeshift into the form of a young man, and currently works in the healing halls of Asgard, under the supervision of Eir, the Goddess of Medicine, she of the fiery temper and gentle hands.

“His second-eldest is Fenrisulfr, the giant and fearsome wolf. Like his brother, he has a human form and lives on Asgard. I’m not entirely sure his plans for the future. He’s a quiet boy and keeps to himself. 

“Jormungandr, the World-Serpent.” Loki grinned. “He is a baby still. Being birthed as an egg, he is technically both younger and older than Hel. He is the most adorable little boy you could ever see, and his favorite past time is turning into a snake in the bath and sinking his toy boats. 

“Hel was born last, but her ability to see and speak with the dead aged her mentally. She does have a body that is half-flesh and half-skeletal, and while she _can_ change her form so she looks _normal,_ she prefers not to. She likes wearing tutus and she wants to be a ballerina. 

“While there are people on Asgard who view them with distrust or hate, I am happy to say that the whole myth of them being imprisoned in various ways is just a story. Odin, the All-Father, and All-Mother Frigga love their grandchildren, and Thor dotes on them all. Sleipnir does occasionally act as a steed to Odin since he can walk Yggdrasil and move quickly, but he considers it an honor.” 

“Wow.” Fandral sat back with a chocolate covered strawberry and slowly licked the chocolate off the tip of one. “So… wow.” He fidgeted a little. 

“The - the little girl we, well _I_ really, Steve was just -- but yeah. The adoption... She uh, she was gorgeous,” he said quietly. “Littlest thing I had ever seen. Chubby pink cheeks and the sweetest little bow-lips. And her name was Amaira. Beautiful black curls and the biggest blue eyes.” He looked at Vinur. “C-could you -- could you ask Loki to check on her? To make sure she’s happy with whoever adopted her?” 

He twisted the berry stalk off and set it down. “I only ever wanted what was best for her. Clearly that wasn’t me and Steve.” 

“I’ll make certain she’s safe and loved,” Loki promised solemnly. “I won’t let her be somewhere she’s not. You have my word.” 

He caught Fandral’s cheek and turned his head. “If it’s not to presumptuous for a near stranger to say so, clearly this Steve wasn’t good for _you._ Not if he hurt you the way he did. I’m sure you would have made a wonderful father. And there’s still time. Don’t let one person ruin it all for you.” He brushed a lock of Fandral’s long hair back behind his ear. “But I will be certain Amaira is checked on. And you know Loki won’t let it stand if she’s uncared for.” 

“There’s no chance for me now. I’m a single, gay man living in a temple in Norway. I had my chance and he took it. _He left_ ,” Fandral whispered. “Told me he loved all of my broken parts, that he wanted nothing but _me_ for forever… but he left. He just disappeared from the apartment, changed his phone number and job… when I tracked him down, he told me he thought he was being kind.” 

Fandral leaned his head into Vinur’s hand and closed his eyes. “His dad’s a local politician and Steve promised he was going to pull some strings, make sure she was ours regardless of our ages and stuff.” He opened his eyes and blinked, unsurprised at the tears that burned his cheeks. 

“And I was stupid enough to _believe_ him. I went and met her, we did playdates and I even - even learned how to change diapers and make a bottle.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why he did that to me,” Fandral murmured. “But it made coming here and wanting to stay… easier.” 

He shifted himself away from the comforting hand and wiped his face. “And here I am, just babbling away at you, ruining the good mood with my bullshit.” He sniffed hard and rubbed his sleeve over his nose. “I’m sorry, Vinur. You’re just… easy to talk to. To trust.” 

“Yule isn’t always happy celebrations. Sometimes it’s reflecting on losses, grieving and getting ready to grow in a different direction once the world turns.” 

He slipped his hand into Fandral’s and squeezed gently, but didn’t force the man to endure his touch. “I’m sorry he hurt you. What he did was cruel. If it helps at all, I’m glad to have met you. I’d like to visit you again, if you don’t mind.”

Fandral nodded and bit his lip. “Is it -- is it a thing, where you’re from to hug people? Can I hug you for a minute?”

Loki laughed, thinking of his brothers. Both Thor and Helblindi were big huggers. “I love hugs,” he admitted softly. “Hugs are a huge part of my life. But hang on.” 

He shifted his form back to his Summer Form, pale skin and dark hair. He spread his arms wide. 

“Warm hugs, I think, are best.” 

“That will never not be the coolest thing in the entire universe to see,” Fandral said and then scrambled ungracefully forwards to fling himself into Vinur’s arms. 

“I haven’t been held since he left me,” he mumbled into the warm shoulder under his head. It was so nice, so fucking _nice_ , to have strong arms around him again. A firm shoulder to put his head on, admittedly a little smaller than his own because Vinur was shorter than he was, but… 

“Can I stay here f’r just a bit?” He yawned and closed his eyes, the late hour, food and wine and conversation all making his head woozy. “Just a minute?”

“Of course,” Loki said gently. He adjusted his position slightly, tugging the other man more fully into his lap and wrapping his arms around him. He cupped the back of Fandral’s head gently. Such soft hair. And such a sweet boy, who had suffered what sounded like a really rough life and somehow still managed to be kind. 

He petted Fandral’s hair softly, making no move to push the boy off. If he needed to be held, then Loki would hold him and find no trouble in doing so. He was glad to do it. 

This was _his_ follower. His to take care of and give a good home here in his temple. Someone to listen for, and perhaps to visit over the years. 

He could interact with his followers however he wished, Eir had said. Loki liked the idea of being a friend.

Fandral woke up warm and comfortable, but alone again. Vinur was gone, though he’d left Fandral tucked in tightly to his little cot by the fire, the food stacked neatly on his small table. 

He sighed softly and sat up, the thick fur cloak Vinur had left him still wrapped snug around his shoulders and leaned against the wall. 

“Thank you, Loki,” he whispered. “For sending someone to maybe be my friend for Yule. Praise and Hail be to you, my only beloved God.” He brushed his fingers over the soft fur cloak wrapped about him and closed his eyes. “Happy Yule, Loki and Vinur.” And after a tiny moment he added, 

“And to you, Amaira. Wherever you are.” 

* * *

Loki didn’t go directly back to Asgard. His first stop was to visit a man named Steve in Chicago. 

He was a pretty man, that was for sure. Tall with chiseled features and a smile that could stop you in your tracks. He had a girl with him, probably in her early twenties, who looked at Steve like he hung the moon. 

But Loki didn’t like the way he talked to her. 

He lingered for a few hours, watching and listening as Steve complimented her decorations on their Christmas tree, before taking the whole compliment back with a single mention of something wrong about it. 

And then he did the same thing with the meal she had cooked. How it was delicious, but it could have been better if she’d done this. 

The girl still stared at him like he was a god, but there was a doubt growing in her heart about herself. 

Loki disliked collateral damage when it caused harm to someone who in no way deserved it. He searched around about this girl, and after a little digging, he found she had a brother and a family who she wasn’t spending Christmas with because Steve hadn’t wanted to. A little whisper in his ears had the brother headed down the road to pick up his sister, determined that they would be a family for Christmas, no matter what her idiot boyfriend said. 

And then he went after Steve. 

When he was finished dealing with that, he found the foster family who was housing a little girl named Amaira. She was exactly as cute as Fandral had said, big blue eyes and beautiful dark curls around rosy cheeks. Loki stayed invisible, watching from the corner of the room as Amaira’s foster father rocked her gently, the bottle slowly being forgotten as the little girl slipped off to sleep. There were gentle hands that tucked her in, and whispers of love and care. 

Loki didn’t know if there had ever been any truth to Fandral’s attempt, on Steve’s part, to adopt this little girl. If the paperwork had ever reached this far. But a perusal of the house and the family that lived there showed only love and a happy home. 

But he’d check back again, just to be sure. He had promised, after all. 

Loki stepped back onto the branches of Yggdrasil and made his way back to Asgard. He had his own children to visit.

Thor looked up from where he was curled up in his favourite sofa, Jör fast asleep and drooling in his arms, when Loki stepped out of Yggdrasil. 

“Welcome home, little brother,” he said quietly. “Tell me how it went? Was my thunder and storm useful?” He looked closer at Loki’s face and sighed before holding his other arm out to him. 

“Come and sit, and tell me everything.”

Loki climbed onto the sofa next to Thor and tucked himself under his arm. “It was very helpful,” he said softly. “Thank you for answering as quickly as you did.” 

He told Thor what had happened. Of how his follower, Fandral, thought he was teasing him at first. How Loki revealed his true form and Fandral wasn’t afraid. Of his new identity as Vinur to Fandral, and how hurt the man was in his heart. And of Loki’s gifts to him, to try and give him a home. 

“I can’t help but think of how lucky I am.” He reached out a hand and trailed it over his son’s tiny fingers. “I have two families who love me, and who love my children. Yet there are people in the universe with no family at all. Or with families who hurt and leave them.” He leaned his head against Thor’s shoulder. “I don’t know how the world gets away with being so unkind.”

“I don’t know either,” Thor murmured. “But you have a chance now to make this man’s life a little better. And, perhaps, he will better yours too.” 

Thor pressed his lips to Loki’s head and sighed softly. “Why don’t you bathe and change, and we’ll go open gifts with your other little terrors, hm? Poor Hel hasn’t moved for hours from the pile.”

Loki chuckled. “She’s going to be beside herself. You do realize I’ll be fetching her from the stables every night til next Yule?” He pressed his forehead to Thor’s with a small sigh. “Thank you,” he murmured. 

Thor’s hand came up to cup the back of his neck. “What for?” 

For being himself. For being his brother. For being, when Loki learned the truth of his heritage, the one person in his life whose feelings and motives he had never doubted. For being his family for as long as he could remember, and years before. 

He stood back with a wet smile. “I’m just being sentimental. Don’t mind me. I’m going to clean up. I’ll meet you at our tree?” 

He slipped from the room along Yggdrasil’s branches before he could start crying, _ridiculously._ The world was often unkind, but Loki had somehow been blessed with the most loyal of brothers, and the very best of friends, and sometimes the truth of that was thrown at him without anything to cushion the blow. 

Loki loved his brother. Sometimes enough to terrify him. He’d tear the world apart for Thor, and it wouldn’t even be hard. 

He couldn’t imagine Thor just disappearing one day. Leaving him alone and vanishing into the world. He thought it’d kill him if he did. 

Fandral, he thought, had to be a very strong person to keep going after something like that. Loki was grateful to have such a person as his follower, and determined that he make Fandral’s life better for being his.

* * *

Fandral watched the first few sunrises of Spring with a new appreciation for it. The pinks and golds, blues and purples… he’d never take it for granted again. Not after months of darkness. 

He sat quietly with the cloak Vinur had left him wrapped around his shoulders on a cushion in the doorway. He wriggled his toes out from underneath it as the first weak rays of sunlight hit the ground. 

“Hello Spring,” he said softly and stood up to start opening and cleaning the Temple. 

His altar needed cleaning and refreshing, his need for fresh air desperate. Fandral lit one of his candles, the scent of sandalwood still his favourite, and stretched his arms up with a grin. 

“Okay. Time to clean!”

* * *

Loki snorted as he leaned over the half-door of the stall. Hel, as he’d expected, was curled up in the soft hay next to Calluna, the foal that she had been given for Yule. Calluna was well-named, being the same soft shade of pink as the Midgardian flower Hel loved so much, with two tiny white wings on her back. 

He dreaded the day the horse learned to tread air. He had no doubt he would be grey before the creature was fully grown from chasing Hel off her back. 

But it had been worth it seeing the look on her face when they took her to the stables to see the tiny little foal that was to be hers. And it was worth even having to come to the stables in the middle of the night and pick her up, strands of hay in her hair and her bare feet cold. 

“Silly girl,” Loki murmured, lifting his daughter into his arms. “What will you do when you’re both too big to be in the stall at once?” 

“G’t her a bigger one,” Hel mumbled sleepily. “Or’ll jus’... sleep on her back.” Purple eyes blinked blearily up at him. “I love her, Mama.” 

“I know you do, sweet pea.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead as he stepped out of the stall and closed the door behind him. “Go back to sleep. You can come out and see her in the morning.”

* * *

Fandral hummed quietly as he rearranged his Altar for Loki. The honey and blood was refilled, and he had set the glowing stick from Loki in the centre, surrounded by grasses and wildflowers. A few feathers and herbs were bundled and strung up, and the maple candies had been swapped out coffee drops. 

He’d purchased a big piece of netting and attached it to the temple door so he could leave it open at night for the breeze and it was his new favourite place to sit and watch the sunset. 

“Praise and Hail be to you, Loki, my beloved God,” he murmured into the growing dusk and raised the glass of wine he was sipping from in a small salute. “Thank you.”

* * *

“When will Calluna start flying?” 

“Not for at least a year. Those wee little wings of hers couldn’t keep a rabbit afloat.” 

“How big will they get?” 

“Well, lesse... Missy Sif’s horse has wings about twelve feet across each. They need a good spread to hold all that weight. Calluna’s a different breed than Zephyr, though. She’s smaller. Even full-grown, her wings won’t be as large as Zephyr’s.”

“But how big will they _be?”_

“Well, I don’t know that. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

Hel sighed hugely. “But I wanna know now!” 

“Can’t help you there.”

“Hel, stop bothering Stablemaster Alfis. He’s trying to work.” 

The stablemaster turned and grinned at Loki. “Aw, she’s all right. She’s just got lots of questions about horses, and that’s all good for a new owner. Ain’t that right, Missy Hel?”

“Yes, sir!” Hel grinned at Loki, displaying her newly lost tooth. “And I’m helping, Mama! Mis’r Alfis is showing me how to feed the horses oats. We gotta grind ‘em up!” 

Loki smirked at her. “Mmhm. And where are you supposed to be?” 

Hel tucked her hands behind her back and looked away from him, the picture of absolute innocence. 

Alfis laughed. “Skipping your lessons, Missy?” 

“They’re _boring.”_

“If your Mama agrees and you go do your lessons proper, I’ll show you how to saddle Calluna.” 

Hel gaped at him, and then took off running. “I’ll be back after class, Mis’r Alfis!” 

Loki sighed and Alfis chuckled. “If you want, I can keep Calluna’s primaries trimmed down so she don’t go taking off at a moment’s notice. Least til the little one’s used to riding.” 

“I’d appreciate that. If you’ll excuse me, I have to track down my brother next, since he’s seen fit to run off with my son.”

“Jör is going to be the mightiest hammer thrower in Asgard’s history!” Thor called out happily to Loki. “Look!” 

He pointed at Jörmungandr, his chubby fists leaving sticky marks all over Mjolnir, and the pile of small toy hammers beside it. 

“Show mama, Jör!” Thor grinned at Loki. “Watch!”

Jör picked up a toy hammer with a giggle and threw it, laughing and clapping when it landed with a thud a couple of feet away. 

“You see!” Thor picked him up and swung him around with a laugh. “My mightiest little warrior.”

“I wondered where you two ran off to.” He ran a hand over Jor’s head and his velvet-soft fuzz of hair. “Uncle Thor’s teaching you all his tricks, huh? Pretty soon he’ll be teaching you how to hunt and Kanil will be beside herself.”

He grinned at Thor. “I found Hel. She’s been hounding the stablemaster all morning. Fen’s at lessons.” He was as bad as Loki sometimes when it came to studying. “I had a thought and I wanted your opinion, if you have a moment.” 

He hooked his arm in Thor’s and gently steered him out of the room and toward the kitchens. It was nearly time for lunch and he had missed breakfast. 

“I was thinking of asking Slip to come to Midgard with me. I thought Fandral might like to meet him. And I know Asgard can’t accept mortals, but I thought... Vanaheim’s water markets? Do you think that would be all right? Or... too much? He’s only a human, I know, but... he’s _mine.”_

Thor smiled at Loki and shook his head. “He is not _only a human,”_ he said quietly. “It’s an honour that he has chosen you. And you’re right, he is yours.” 

Thor slowed his steps a moment and sighed. “I think that will be a wonderful idea though. Just remember that time for your mortal will move faster, Loki. He is yours now, and his soul will come to you for release when he passes.”

Loki nodded. “I know.” He didn’t like to think of it, though. There was a part of him that felt like that temple had been made for Fandral alone, and when he was gone, that place would fall. 

It would be empty of its heart. 

“Is it odd... to...” He frowned. “To _feel_ so much? Like an... intimacy.” He licked his lips. He had merged his seidr with only one woman during his life, and she had turned on him in their passion and tried to kill him. He had thought that moment had been intimate, before it fell apart. But this... 

“His soul. It’s already mine, isn’t it? We’re... bound.”

Thor hummed. “I’m going to take Jör to lunch,” he said softly, and ducked his head to press a swift and firm kiss to Loki’s nose. “You, little brother, are going to find mother. Soul bonds are rare with a mortal, but not impossible. And there is no one who understands better than mother.” 

He shifted Jörmungandr onto his hip and smiled. “You’re very blessed, Loki, with one so dedicated that he’s bound his soul to you.”

Loki watched his brother walk away, feeling more confused than ever. Soul bounds? An actual soul bond? 

He licked his dry lips and sighed. He didn’t understand, and so Thor was right. He needed to speak to Mother. 

Stopping a passing maid, he asked her to bring lunch to the All-Mother’s rooms. He made his way there himself. Sometimes Frigga stood in the throne room beside his father, but not today. Today she was in her rooms, waiting for him. 

“Good afternoon, Loki. Did you order us lunch?” Loki nodded, and she opened the door wider with a smile. “Come in, then. We’ll talk while we wait.”

* * *

“I… don’t think that’s right…”

Fandral bit his lip and poked tentatively at the meat he’d tried to cook spit-roast style over his fire. The butcher in town had been amused but helpful, but looking at it now…

“Oh well.” He pulled a piece of the rabbit off and eyed it. “If you kill me,” he threatened it, “I’ll haunt you.”

* * *

“So it’s... possible? I’ve bound myself to him?” 

Frigga smiled at him over her cup. “It’s nothing you did. Some souls just call to one another. Some people believe that they were formed together, crafted by the universe near one another, and they spend their whole lives trying to find one another again. Sometimes more than one life.” 

Loki studied his plate. Kanil had made pasta (a request from Sif that had become pretty popular in the palace), but Loki felt like his stomach was in knots. 

“What does it mean? Is he... what happens when he dies?” 

Frigga picked up her fork. “What do you want to happen?” 

He opened his mouth to answer, but had no words. What was he meant to say? That the very idea of Fandral dying already seemed anathema? That Loki wanted time around his temple to stop so the other man would never leave. He wanted to go there, no matter the time, and find Fandral waiting. 

“He calls to you.” Frigga’s voice was wondering. “Even now.”

“Is that what this is?” Loki looked around the room. It was like an ache in his chest, and yet there was no pain. It was like magic under his skin, but that was only the worship. It was nothing. 

It was everything. 

“I hate it,” he whispered. 

Frigga trailed a hand over his forehead, brushing back his hair. “No you don’t.”

No. He didn’t. 

“How can he bear it?” Loki looked at her. “I’m accustomed to magic and it feels like I’m burning half the time.”

“He’s living in your temple. He has been gifted with your magic and is surrounded on all sides by your seidr. What do you have of his?” 

“His... worship?” Frigga smiled. “It’s not enough.” 

“Something physical can help. Even something small. A strand of hair, carefully kept. A drop of blood or...”

Loki blushed bright red. “Okay. I will... I will look into that.” 

Frigga ducked her head and slipped her fork into her mouth. They both spent a few minutes eating, talking lost in the wake of thought. 

“Is it bad? That he’s human and we’re... this?” 

“Why would it be bad? It’s not common to find your soulmate in this vast universe. That’s what makes finding one so special. He is a human, yes. But in his next life, if he chooses that route, perhaps he will be a Jotun or an Alf. If, should the Norns ever be so cruel, you are ever taken from me, your next life may find you a mortal of Midgard.” She cupped his cheek in her hand. “It simply is. He is your soulmate. It does not need to mean anything at all. But if he calls to you, going to him can ease that longing. And cherishing his life is only to be expected. He is your priest, after all.”

“My priest?” 

Frigga took his empty plate and stacked it with hers on the tray. “He cares for your temple. He lives there. He serves you, my son. Is he not a Priest of Loki?”

Loki licked his lips. “I suppose... he is. My priest.” He liked the way that sounded very much.

* * *

Fandral flicked the pages of his new notebook back and forth between his fingers and then tapped them on the lines. He looked around, trying to see if he’d forgotten anything. His altar was detailed, the throne with the bolts of velvet and silk he’d draped over it was there as was the small ceremonial knife of pure silver he’d bought. The thick fur cloak Vinur had left him was hanging by the door, Norway’s idea of summer still colder than he was used to but a little too warm for that, but he had that listed too. 

A drawing of Vinur, of the staff and the glowing orb left by Loki. His robe, the ritual he’d used to invoke Loki as his God. 

Fandral closed the book and stared at the embossed leather cover, the howling wolf and its moon already worn by his tracing fingers. 

He hadn’t seen Vinur again since Yule, but it was the Summer Solstice tomorrow and he’d planned to do a similar ritual to his first one. 

“Wine, food, sex, blood and fire,” he murmured. “Hope solo-sex is enough.” Fandral sighed and scratched at his beard. “Might shave and wash up first though. Can’t seduce my left hand if I’m filthy."

* * *

“Mother, if you fidget anymore, I _will_ throw you off.”

“Sorry.” Loki stilled, forcing himself to relax. He never put a saddle on Sleipnir - it never felt right, although his son said he didn’t mind wearing one. The leaves and branches of Yggdrasil parted around the doorway and his horse-son stepped out into Norway’s grasses. The air was filled with the clean scent of coming Summer. It was going to be beautiful today. 

He slipped from Sleipnir’s back gently, running a hand down his neck. “Remember, I’m Vinur. You can’t call me Mother or he’ll know and I don’t know if he could handle that, or if he’d treat me different, and I like this. I like him. I don’t—“

Sleipnir bit him. “Vinur. Calm down.” 

Loki whined pathetically as he looked at his hand. Sleipnir hadn’t broken the skin, but that had hurt. 

“Focus.” Sleipnir stomped a hoof. “You’re burning daylight. I’ll wait here. You go get your friend.” 

Loki studied his eldest son. Sleipnir had seemed excited to meet Loki’s priest and pleased to be asked to escort them to Vanaheim, but Loki was still expecting disgust or something at him spending so much attention on a mortal. 

“Thank you, Slip.” 

Sleipnir rolled his eyes. “Oh, go on already.” He bumped his head against Loki’s back and he went. 

There was a netting over the open doorway, giving him a clean view into the temple. He wasn’t sure how he should act - it _was_ his temple, but he wasn’t Loki here and—well— 

He knocked on the outside of the... mountain. Like an _idiot._ A quick flicker of magic let him step through the netting and into the temple. 

“Uh... Fandral? Hi.”

“Vinur!” Fandral bounded over to the door, shirt forgotten on the floor and hugged the other man tight before he stepped back with a dopey grin. “I thought you’d forgotten all about me! I was just getting things ready for the Summer Solstice ceremony tonight! I found a neat text online last time I went into town,” he gestured over at the pile of papers stacked on Loki’s throne, “so I printed it out, and thought that I might as well try it. Can’t hurt, at any rate. Well, the blood part always does, but I don’t mind at all, cause the sex part is fun. Oh, and maybe _don’t_ let Loki know I use his throne as a stacking place. Unless he knows. He might know already. I am _rambling_.” 

He shoved his fingers in his mouth - a habit he was never going to break - and took a deep breath.

Loki laughed. He caught Fandral’s wrist and removed his hand from his mouth. He actually kind of liked the rambling. 

“You’re impossible to forget. Things have been a little busy.” And he had been a lot nervous. “Loki wouldn’t mind the stacking. He’d understand. He’s a bit of a magpie that way. Stuff stacked everywhere.” He flapped his hands to indicate mountains of _stuff._ Maybe rambling was catching. 

“Anyway, I thought you might come with me today on a trip? I’ll have you back before the Solstice ends, but I brought a friend with me. I think you’ll like to meet him.” 

Fandral blushed and ducked his head. “I dunno,” he mumbled, “I’m pretty forgettable to some.” He shook his head to clear it and grinned at Vinur. “Let me put my shirt on?” 

He shuffled back over to where he’d dropped his shirt in his excitement and shoved it on over his head, yanking his hair back into a messy bun on top of his head. It had grown _a lot_ in the time he’d been in the temple. 

“So!” Fandral clapped his hands as he moved back over to pull his boots on. “Who’s your friend, where are we going, and will I need my credit card?” 

“No credit card,” Loki said. “But you might want... a journal or something to write with? Or a phone to take pictures? I’m going to take you to Vanaheim.” He shuffled his feet nervously. “It was supposed to be for your birthday but I-“ Chickened out. “-missed it. But they have these markets on the water and their Solstice celebrations take up the whole realm and...” 

He shook his head. “Bring whatever you think you’ll need for your first visit to another planet. As for my friend...” He glanced outside. It was impossible to see all of Sleipnir’s legs from this angle, and he had his face buried in a mound of clover. He turned back to grin at Fandral. “You’ll have to come see.”

“I have a phone, but it’s totally flat. I don’t keep it charged, I’m trying to not modernise this place too much. It’s… perfect like this.” 

He shrugged his backpack on, threw in his sketch pads and pencils and picked up his robe. “Lead on, good sir!” 

He followed Vinur out of the temple and stretched with a sigh. He looked over at the horse munching at the clover and cocked his head. 

There was… something… 

“SWEET BABY JESUS ON A CHEESECAKE!” He gaped and turned back to Vinur. “It’s _Sleipnir!_ Oh god, oh wow, okay. I am — this is so — _WOW.”_

He swayed slightly on the spot and shook his head hard. “Can I like, pet him? Does he speak? Is he like the myths say and actually walks the World Tree? Yggdrasil is so freakin’ amazing, all her drawings are beautiful, and the ones I’ve seen of _you,”_ Fandral held his hand short of petting Sleipnir’s side, not even noticing he’d been moving, “Gosh, wow. You’re even more gorgeous in person, aren’t you? I can’t — wow. Uh. Hail and well met, Sleipnir Lokison.”

Sleipnir glanced sideways at Loki. “You’re right. He’s adorable.” The huge gasp of breath Fandral sucked in was just cute as Hel, and he knew exactly how adorable she was. “If you faint, I will tease you forever.”

He turned fully to face Fandral, ears flicking. “Hail and well met, Fandral Smith, Priest of Loki. I do indeed walk Yggdrasil. I’ll be taking you along her branches, so you’ll get to see a bit of her. And yes, you may pet me. I like scratches under my mane best.” He cocked his head to the side. “Have you ridden a horse before? I won’t drop you, but it’s always nice to know whether or not I’ll be kicked in the ribs the whole way.”

Fandral absolutely did _not_ squeak. 

Or squeal. 

His surprised sound was manly and masculine and — 

“Oh wow,” he wheezed. “I’m — this is — oh wow.” 

He cleared his throat and grinned, fingers moving slowly to scratch under Sleipnir’s mane. “So soft,” he murmured. “This is amazing. Uh, I have never ridden before, I’m sorry.” He licked his lip and brought his other hand up to run along the length of Sleipnir’s neck.

“My cousins used to go five days a week though,” he said quietly, “and I was allowed to watch sometimes. So I know how to sit without hurting you.”

Sleipnir smirked. “You’re far too dainty to hurt me. But I appreciate it.” 

He ignored the squeak of “Dainty?!” and folded his legs beneath him, lowering himself to the ground. “Come on, then.” 

“I’ll ride behind you,” Loki said, putting a hand on Fandral’s shoulder. He took his pack from his and slipped it into a seidr pocket. “Trust me.” 

Yggdrasil opened the doorway herself, a circle of magic burning green and gold that split the world itself apart. She shook her branches invitingly and Sleipnir whinnied a laugh. “She’s excited, isn’t she? Let’s not keep the lady waiting. All aboard the Sleipnir Express!”

Fandral felt all the air in his lungs leave him a massive whooshing sensation as Yggdrasil opened. 

“Oh,” he breathed. “Oh my.” 

He stepped a half step closer to the glowing portal _in the world_ and wished, desperately, that it wouldn’t close behind them when Vinur and Sleipnir left. 

“This is amazing,” he murmured. “I’ve never even read a description of what her magicks looked like. There’s been no conclusive evidence written or drawn anywhere that she was even anything more than just speculation. But she _is.”_

Fandral stepped back and wiped at his face, the tears there taking him a little by surprise. He turned back to Vinur and smiled, the crooked little thing he always got when he was excited about something. “I have to admit I’m going to be jealous as all hell when you leave along her branches again.”

Loki smiled at him. “Well, I’ll just have to come back later and take you along a different route, won’t I?” He nudged Fandral toward Sleipnir, waiting until the man had slung a leg over his son. He held onto Fandral’s arm to steady him as Sleipnir stood, lifting the other man easily. 

“Yggdrasil created all trees in her own image. There are parts of her that look like Japanese cherry blossoms. And there are fruits on some of her branches that taste like magic.” 

He swung himself up behind Fandral with the ease of long practice, wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist. “Next time, I’ll remember we need to visit her high branches.” That’s where Yggdrasil first grew the stars that covered the night sky. There were still millions clinging to her branches, hanging like peaches made of dust and light, each one tasting of galaxies and time. 

He pressed his head against Fandral’s, grinning, and caught the man’s hands, twisting them between his around Sleipnir’s mane. “Hold on.” 

The magic of the doorway danced across his skin, like the touch of sunlight flickering, there and gone. And once they were on Yggdrasil’s branches, the air smelled of life and magic, branches stretching in all directions above and below them, some remaining steady and others moving constantly. There was a soft hum in the background, and the creaking of her branches as she spoke. Loki listened for a long moment before wrapping his arms around Fandral and pressing his mouth to his ear. 

“She says ‘welcome, Fandral of Midgard, to the Heart of the Universe. Don’t be afraid. I remember you.’”

Fandral could no more help the shiver of arousal when Vinur’s lips brushed his ear than he could help the next beat of his heart. No one had held him or touched him since Steve had left him. There’d been no one night stands, no kisses in dark clubs… 

Nothing but him and his hand. 

He swallowed hard and nodded. “She… she speaks to you,” he whispered. “I — I hear _singing.”_ He turned his head a little and flushed when his cheek brushed Vinur’s lips. “Um. She’s not… like a tree. The sounds, I mean. She _sings.”_

Loki nodded softly and tried not to chase the movement of Fandral’s lips. He smelled of sandalwood and fresh air, and Loki wanted to simply bury his face in the man’s hair. 

The idea was terrifying. 

“She’s not really a tree. She’s much more than that. Even the most technologically or magically advanced societies can’t fathom all of her. We can’t even _see_ all of her. Our minds simply can’t comprehend it.” Yggdrasil would have been giving Fandral a smaller view of her than what Loki could see. After hundreds of years of walking her branches, he had grown accustomed to her size. That first introduction had been rough, though. 

“She reaches all worlds in the universe and all alternate worlds in alternate universes, and all times, and all of space. She is the source of all magic and all energy. The place where life began. And she is alive and thinking. Her songs are breath, the birth and the death of millions of worlds, and time. She is _always._ And she is one of my dearest friends.” 

He rested his head on Fandral’s shoulder. “She talks, too. Sings to create the worlds, new planets forming as she expands the Universe around us so we can always grow.” 

Branches shifted above their heads as Sleipnir walked, and dark blue blossoms tumbled down over Fandral’s head in a crown. 

Loki laughed, straightening the crown. “And she likes you.”

The flower crown stayed firmly in place, and Fandral shrugged his robe on easily when Vinur helped him to dismount from Sleipnir’s back. As he fastened the collar and picked his bag up, he took a moment to look around. He was on another _realm_ . He’d just walked the World Tree, heard her _sing_ and now… 

Fandral shivered happily. 

Vanaheim was much like Venice, but… _more_. It’s buildings were all built from a brilliant white stone, their doors a light kind of wood and the roofs tiled in shades of green gemstones that he recognised as a kind of cousin to both jade and peridot. And everywhere he looked there were people and animals, boats and crystal clear waters with pebbles of blue and gold at the bottom. 

“It’s so clean.” He turned his head to and fro, grinning like a madman no doubt, but unable to stop. 

A tiny girl with bright blue skin and hair of pure silver stopped in front of him and grasped at his robe. “ _Fustan i bukur_ ,” she said shyly. 

Fandral blinked down at her, grateful when Vinur whispered to him, “She thinks your dress is pretty.” 

“Oh!” Fandral dropped to one knee and smiled at her. “Thank you little darling. I love your skin, it’s such a pretty colour!”

He _loved_ children, and for the most part, they’d always liked him too. This little girl was clearly no exception as she clambered up to sit on his knee and pet at his beard. 

“Pre-eetty,” she said softly and slowly and Fandral nodded. 

“That’s right. Aren’t you clever?” 

She sat with him a little longer, until a woman’s voice called out something he assumed was her name. He reached up and set the flower crown on her head, and was given a wet little kiss to his cheek before she scurried off. Fandral got back to his feet, dazed and happy. 

“That was the cutest thing that’s ever happened to me, ever,” he said quietly and grinned at Vinur and Sleipnir. “So. Now that I’ve been effectively rendered into a puddle of useless goop, where to first?”

“Where would you like to start?” 

Fandral looked back out, took in the bustling crowds on each side of the deep canals, the stores and homes that were floating peacefully along them and let his dopey grin settle into a smaller, happier smile. “Honestly, I’d be content to just stand here all day and watch them. I’ve never been somewhere so peaceful and clean.” He sighed almost wistfully. “Makes me not want to leave.” 

A whiff of _something_ sweet and sugary drifted in their direction and Fandral turned his head to follow it. “Whatever that smell is,” he decided. “That’s where we go first.” 

Sleipnir whinnied a laugh, turning to look at his mother. “A man after your own heart, Vinur.” 

Loki grinned. “I do love the sweets.”

Sleipnir planted all eight of his hooves and gave a full-body shudder. Silver streams of magic curled around his body, spreading and blanketing him in what looked like mercury, until he was fully submerged. 

He stepped back, and the seidr fell with the sound of brushing fabric, swinging down around his back as he stood up, tugging on the hem of his tunic to straighten it. 

“I’ll disrupt the crowd a bit less like this,” he said with a grin. He was a little taller than Loki, with skin more of an olive tone. He’d inherited his father’s hair, honeyed ginger and pulled up into a bun at the back of his head. His eyes were a dark brown, almost black, and he had a bright grin as he stepped forward and grabbed Fandral’s hand. 

“A proper human greeting,” he said cheerfully, shaking the other man’s hand. “Now come on. These things sell quick and you can’t miss them!” And he took off through the crowd with an ease Fandral had no hope of following. 

“It takes practice.” Loki slipped his hand into Fandral’s. “Come on.” He pulled the other man along after him through the busy crowd of people. Sleipnir had commandeered a boat for them, and was leaning against the high prow with the large steering stick in his hands.

“It’s a gondola?” Fandral stared at the boat in fascination. 

“Close. It’s called a sy korb. A raven’s eye.” The boat was similar to the Venetian gondolas used traditionally as vehicles in the water-streets of one of Italy’s most famous cities, but the rear prow was taller than Sleipnir, the tip curling into a decorative sphere through which a lantern had been hung. At one time, ravens used to perch on the high prow and watch for danger, companions to the city guards traversing the waters of Vanaheim. 

“All aboard!” Sleipnir called, grinning at them. “Our destination is the shkop i përdredhur merchant.” He pointed out into the water. “That way.”

Fandral squeezed at Vinur’s hand as the boat moved through the canal. Everywhere he looked there were people, animals and stalls. Music from several different bands drifted out over the water, and when he tipped his head back to stare at the sky, Fandral had to rub his eyes and blink. 

“Three suns,” he whispered. “There’s _three suns.”_

He looked back at Vinur and Sleipnir and shook his head. “This is amazing. Absolutely amazing. I — just… _wow.”_

“And we’re only just starting.” Loki bumped Fandral’s shoulder with his. 

The boat turned gently under Sleipnir’s expert command, rolling to a gentle stop next to a merchant stall. 

“Oshpaz!” Sleipnir let go of the oar and leapt to the side of the boat, balancing on the edge as it rocked with his weight. “I’ve brought you a fresh Midgardian face whose never tasted your delicacies! I hope you haven’t sold everything yet.” 

“Sold everything! You clearly doubt my skills of preparation. You should know better by now.” 

She stepped onto the edge of the boat and crouched down to get a good look at Fandral. “Well, aren’t you the cutest thing I ever saw?” 

Oshpaz was tall and slender, dressed in bright reds and golds to celebrate the Solstice, with an apron dusted in flour and syrup over the whole ensemble. Her bright silver hair was pulled back from a high brow and glittering blue eyes, and long pointed ears stuck out clearly, pierced with numerous earrings of gold and rubies. They, and her facial tattoos, showed she hailed from Alfheim’s Western Tribes. 

“So, Midgardian. Then you know Tolkien. Am I more Arwen or Galadriel, do you think?” 

“I’ve seen you eat,” Loki said, amused. “You’re obviously Pippin.”

Fandral shook his head and smiled shyly up at her. “More of a Tauriel,” he said softly. “Strong and beautiful.” 

He shuffled his feet and grinned. “I’m Fandral, Priest of Loki. It’s really nice to meet you.”

“Priest of Loki,” Oshpaz said wonderingly. “Is this your first visit off-planet, Fandral Priest?” 

He nodded, looking confused, but Oshpaz only grinned. “Celebrating the Solstice in style!” She hopped off their boat and back into her merchant stall. “One moment, my new Midgardian friend!” 

Loki leaned closer to Fandral. “Oshpaz is from Alfheim. She lives in the West, in the swampland tribes where much of their homes are on boats or high in the trees. She has been baking for longer than I have been alive, but she comes to Vanaheim during the holidays to sell her wares.” 

“We’d miss her if she didn’t,” Sleipnir said brightly. 

“Your stomach would come looking for me, Spiderlegs.” Oshpaz stood back up, her hands full of sticks. “All right then, pass ‘em around.” 

Sleipnir took two and handed one each to Fandral and Loki. The sticks were no thicker than a pencil, made of simple wood. There was room to hold them at the base with their fist, but the core of an apple stopped them reaching up farther. 

Long thin lines of apple had been cut into the apple so they remained connected to the core as they spiraled around the stick from the core of the apple to its tip. The entire mass had been dipped in a sticky fruit syrup and sprinkled with sweet crumbs and cinnamon. 

Loki grinned at Fandral. “It’s not a tennis racket, I promise.” Though it did look like one, and he’d told Oshpaz as much before, so she only laughed. He tilted his own stick so Fandral was looking at it from the top, which emphasized the spiraling pattern, showing how it ran in a near-perfect circle around the stick. “It’s a symbol for the Summer Solstice. Oshpaz only sells these one day a year. She makes something different on the Winter Solstice, and I’ll bring you back to visit for that one, if you’d like.”

He took a bite out of one of the spirals. It crunched wonderfully, the sugar immediately melting on his tongue and filling his mouth with the taste of sugar and apples. 

Oshpaz was filling two bags for Sleipnir with treats he was pointing out, muttering that Hel would like this and Fen would chew his leg off if he didn’t get that. 

Loki smiled gently at Fandral. “What do you think?”

Fandral’s mouth was far too full of sugar and apple and _heaven_ to answer, so he just nodded enthusiastically. When he managed to swallow his mouthful he leaned over and smacked a kiss to Vinur’s cheek. 

“I think I want to live here, and eat nothing but this for the rest of my puny mortal life,” he said happily. “I have heaven in my hand.”

“Oh! He is adorable. You would be welcome, you wonderful boy.” She handed Sleipnir the two bulging bags and turned all of her attention to Fandral. 

“And just for that, I’m making something special for you come the Winter Solstice. What’s your favorite fruit, hm?”

Fandral blushed, and ignored Sleipnir’s snickering. “Um, it’s strawberries, ma’am. They’re my favourite. Do you have those here?” 

“We don’t!” she said, delighted. “I love discovering new fruits. They’re a berry?” She turned to Loki. “Will you bring me some? I bet we can plant them on Alfheim. We have greenhouses there.” 

Loki was smiling. Oshpaz always got so excited to learn about new fruits. She liked making new recipes. 

Learning about blueberries had inspired a feast that had Loki inviting all the tricksters he knew to Alfheim. Half of them were banned now. 

“I’ll bring you some,” he promised. “We grow them on Asgard.” 

“Fantastic!” She leaned over and pressed a kiss to Fandral’s forehead. “You make sure these two bring you back for the Winter Solstice. I want to see your gorgeous face again.” There was a line forming behind their boat, so she hopped back onto her ship and grinned at them. “You all have a wonderful Litha. May your year be bright and filled with sun, Fandral, Priest of Loki. Well met.”

“May your year be bright and blessed,” Fandral waved at her as Sleipnir moved them away. “Well met, Lady Oshpaz!” 

He sat with a grin on his face as they moved and reached over to touch his fingers to Vinur’s hand. “Thank you,” he said softly as Vinur turned to meet his eyes. “I’ve _never_ imagined anything like this before. Norway is the first time I’d ever even been out of the country.” 

He ducked his head and grinned. “Never thought dedicating myself to Loki would lead to… well,” he looked up at Vanaheim and gestured at it all. “This. I mean. I - you’re -” Fandral bit at his lip and sighed. “I think you’re the first friend I’ve ever had, Vinur. I moved too much as a kid, and never fit in.” He shrugged. “You’ll have read Harry Potter, so you know how he’s described? Ill-fitting clothes, odd haircut… that was me. My cousins hated me because I was _there_ , and the kids at school picked on me because they could.” 

Fandral brushed his fingertips over Vinur’s knuckles and settled his hand back in his lap. “Would you tell Loki… thank you? When - when you see him, I mean. _If_ you see him. Or write to him. Or ravens or whatever it is, because the texts all disagree on how exactly it is that you communicate between the realms, whether it’s something to do with the Rainbow Bridge, or magic. I even read one that said there were flying horses that carried messages using the Valkyrie, but the Valkyrie are the most badass women in mythology as far as I’m concerned, and there’s no way they’d just be messenger girls. And _Jesus Christ_ , I’m rambling again, I am so sorry!” 

Fandral shoved his fingers in his mouth and breathed slowly around them. It wasn’t adorable or endearing. _Steve_ had thought it was. And he’d left. Fandral wasn’t going to make Vinur leave too just because his stupid mouth and brain had no filter.

Sleipnir was laughing so hard, he was steering them toward the pottery merchant. Loki leaned over and gently corrected their course. 

“I will have to introduce you to Sif,” he said, smiling. “I suspect that’s why Slip is laughing.” Sleipnir wheezed and nodded energetically. 

“Sif is the Goddess of Loyalty and Friendship. She’s also a Valkyrie. Her winged horse’s name is Zephyr.” 

He picked Fandral’s hand out of his lap and entwined their fingers, leaning close to the other man and dropping his voice. “I am honored to be your first friend, Fandral. And if I can have my way, you will see as much of this universe as I can show you in your time. I will be bringing you back here for Winter Solstice to see Oshpaz again, but I thought you might also like to visit Jotunheim.” He smiled gently. “Think about it.” 

He leaned back, relaxing, and launched into an explanation about the ways the realms communicated. That there were ravens, of course, and then there were magical ravens who could move between the realms. That the Rainbow Bridge, what they called the BiFrost, tended to deliver people, rather than messages, and that Sif had made deliveries between kingdom’s a time or two in service to the throne. 

“And then there’s the more technological means. Those two way mirrors from Harry Potter are something I’ve seen the dwarves use, although my m-ajesty, Queen Frigga, speaks to her sister Freyja through full-length mirrors, when she doesn’t use a magical projection. And sending messages through the elements is possible, too, if you have the right tools.” He squeezed Fandral’s hand. “I promise I’ll tell Loki your thanks. I’m sure he already knows.”

* * *

Thor scooped Jör up off the grass and settled him into his arms. “You are the _dirtiest_ tot on Asgard! What _will_ your mama say!” 

“Mama! MAMA MAMA MAMA!” 

Thor laughed and poked him gently on the nose. “That’s right,” he agreed seriously. “Your mama. He is far too scary to give such a dirty babe back to. Bath time little love?”

“Baff! Baff, baff BAFF!” 

Thor snorted and turned back to his mother, frowning slightly when he saw her stopped in the pathway, her eyes distant and glazed.

“Mother?” Thor nudged Frigga gently in the side, and grinned at her when she blinked in confusion at him. “There you are! You went away on us for a moment. Did you have a vision?” Frigga laughed when Jor squealed and reached out for her. She plucked him from Thor’s arms and hugged him. ”Yes,” she said quietly. “Such a beautiful future, too.” 

She smiled at her eldest son. “Your brother is falling rather hard for his little Midgardian mortal. Do you think you might meet him at some point?”“Falling for him, mother?” Thor cocked his head as Frigga cooed and smooched at Jör. “Is that… wise? I mean. I know that love is without bounds, but… I don’t want to see Loki hurt when his mortal’s time is up,” he said quietly. “He’s been through enough.”

Frigga nodded. “The truth about love is that it can hurt a great deal, but I’ve always thought it was worth it.” She leaned over and pressed a kiss to Thor’s cheek. “I need you to do me a favor, hm? Don’t discourage your brother. Even unwise love can be the most powerful force in the universe. And the Norns owe your brother for all they’ve put him through. They can give him this.” 

She held Jor up. “Now, my ferocious sea serpent, you are _filthy._ Let’s go find Afi and tell him he needs to stop all the boring paperwork and bathe his grandson, hm?”

* * *

Fandral sat in quiet awe as they moved carefully and easily through the crowds and boats in the canals, his eyes wandering but always straying back to Vinur. Only the second time he’d actually seen the man, but he was… magnetic.

It was kind of terrifying. Steve had been magnetic too. 

“Um, so… Vinur,” he examined the hand in his and then tried to look as casually as he could at the ring finger of his other hand. “Is - is there a Mrs or Mr Vinur?”

Sleipnir glanced worriedly at his mother, but Loki didn’t appear bothered by the question. 

“No.” His voice was quiet and thoughtful, but not hurt. “There’s never been anyone that worked out. It’s just me and my family.”

Fandral ran his thumb gently over the fingers in his and nodded. “I’m sorry. I’m glad you’ve got your family, though.” He turned Vinur’s hand over thoughtfully, and memorised the lines and shape carefully. He’d draw it later, dark painted nails and delicate fingers, thin and graceful but calloused. Vinur worked with his hands. 

“Do you have children?”

“I do,” Loki said quietly. Secret identity or not, he would never deny his children’s existence. “I have four. Three boys and a girl.”

Three boys… and a girl. 

“Just like Loki,” Fandral murmured. He didn’t press at it further. The last thing he wanted to do was scare his new friend away. 

Though… he couldn’t deny the tiny part of him that wished he was someone that Vinur might love one day. The tiny part of him that wanted to know why he’d been so damned unlovable all his life, that part of him wanted Vinur to look twice at him. 

But Fandral stomped that little part down viciously and sighed quietly before he grinned at Vinur and asked, “Where to now?”

Loki studied Fandral for a moment. There were pain and questions behind his eyes, but he wouldn’t force it. He squeezed Fandral’s hand gently but let the subject change. 

“That’s up to you. There is the food markets, if you’re hungry. Or there is the setting of the first sun, which we could watch from the water. We’ll dock in a couple hours, when the second sun sets. That’s when the fire trails will be lit on the shore.” There would be dancing as people would run from fire to fire, tossing wishing stones into the flames for luck. 

“Are you hungry? Or would you like to try salcë nenexhiku e nxehtë? It’s like hot chocolate, but made from mint and cream.”

“The hot chocolate,” Fandral said quietly. “That sounds perfect.” 

He grinned and very firmly tried to get a grip on himself. 

_”You’re always so emotional, Fandral! It’s not a good thing, regardless of what society says now. You need to learn to have some self control.”_

Steve’s voice was still so loud, even now. 

* * *

“Mother?” Thor watched Odin as he sat back from the tub, coughing and spluttering through his laughter as Jör hissed ferociously and sank his little boats again. 

“This mortal of Loki’s…” he frowned and sighed. “Is he good for him?”

Frigga thought for a moment before answering. “You know your brother loves you very much. And he loves Sif, and Helblindi and Byleistr, your father and I, and his children.” 

Thor was frowning at her, but nodded. 

“Do you also see how lonely he is, despite being surrounded by people he loves so much? He tries not to let it show, but I think you know him well enough to see through him.”

Thor sighed, but nodded. “I do see it,” he said quietly. “Loki’s bed is always empty.”

And it wasn’t just his bed. It was the space at Loki’s side, the hand that was always empty, the way he shifted himself slightly away from Thor and whatever partner he had at the time. Though for many, many months now he’d been solely with Helblindi, the Jotun gleefully leading him on a chase he knew would end in their marriage.

But there’d been one other for Loki that Thor knew of.

“At least he didn’t waste his love on Angrboda,” he said quietly. “Perhaps this little mortal will be the first to experience such a joy.”

He licked his lips nervously and sighed. “I just don’t want to see him lonely forever, mother.”

Frigga glanced at where Odin was distracting Jormungandr by making his boats swirl around in the tub just out of reach. She placed a hand on Thor’s back and guided him out of the washroom and into her bedroom, leaving the door open a crack. 

She pointed a finger at him. “You never repeat this to anyone,” she said sternly, “or I will ground you until your second millennium.” She ran a hand along her cheek, brushing back the hair that was falling out of its elaborate hold. 

“Your brother _did_ love Angrboda,” she said gently. “He had begun to court her, and it was his intention to ask her clan for marriage rites.” Frigga sighed. “How much do you know about what happened to her that brought Loki home?”

Thor stared at his mother and opened and closed his mouth stupidly. 

“He… he simply said that they wanted different things after the children were born,” he said after a long moment. “She wanted to travel and see the universe, he wanted them to have a stable home. She left, and he came home.”

Frigga closed her eyes and shook her head. “Angrboda is dead.” She looked at Thor. “She attempted to perform a black ritual on your brother during a night of passion. His magic defended him instinctively and she paid the price for her actions with her life. Not gently, as I understand.” She licked her lips. “Some of that is the reason your niece and nephews have such strong seidr. Loki’s magic devoured Angrboda’s soul.” 

She was not entirely certain that they hadn’t been conceived wholly of magic alone. If Angrboda has played a part at all, except as a sacrifice. 

But Loki had been distraught when he returned home. He had managed a good show for a few days, before coming to her and completely breaking down, revealing the whole story. It wasn’t just Angrboda’s betrayal that had hurt him so badly. He had loved her, and unintentionally or not, he had killed her. 

“I have not seen your brother even look at another person with interest since that day. Not until this young man whose heart calls out to him. If Loki can find love again, even in the fleeting life of a mortal, I think it may give him back something that died with Angrboda.”

Thor clapped a hand over his mouth and sat down hard on the floor. 

“By the Norns,” he breathed, “how… how _could she?!”_

Thor swallowed hard and shook his head. “I - I need Blindi,” he murmured. “I need…” he looked up at his mother and sniffed, completely unashamed about the tears pouring down his face. “I need to see Loki. I need to meet this mortal.”

Frigga crouched down next to him. She heard the flutter of wings and knew that one of Odin’s ravens had left the fetch the Jotun prince. 

“After everything came to light, I went to Jotunheim to speak with Farbauti. Our meeting as we did is some of the reason we told Loki of his heritage when we did. We thought knowing that part of himself would help. 

“Farbauti knows the clans, having been born in one herself. We looked into Angrboda to see _why.”_ She sighed. “That wasn’t her real name. She’d had hundreds before, used and discarded as she drew men to her, made them fall in love with her, and then stole their magic with a ritual and disappeared to start a new life. Who she was at the start, we have no idea. Her name was lost to time long before either your father or I were born. Loki was simply the last in a long line of victims, and far more powerful than she had been expecting, for him to have defended himself as he did.” Although, she thought they might have a great deal to be grateful to Yggdrasil for. It was not beyond the realm of possibility that the World Tree’s affection for Loki had her interfering, and using Loki as a channel for _her_ magic, to protect him. 

Hel, Jormungandr, and Fenrisulfr might very much be more Yggdrasil’s children than Angrboda’s. 

The palace trembled with the power of the BiFrost as it opened. Frigga ran her fingers over Thor’s cheeks, wiping away his tears. “Loki is on Vanaheim, at the Solstice Festival. His mortal and Sleipnir are with him.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Take Sif with you.”

* * *

Fandral was beginning to blink longer and more often as their day wound down. Sleipnir was dancing from fire to fire, tossing stones and wishes and accepting dances and kisses from everyone who offered. Vinur, however, seemed content to sit with Fandral, their shoulders pressed close together, and hands resting between them. 

It felt intimate to Fandral in a way that he’d never felt before, though he wasn’t sure if it was just _him._ He’d gone so long without more than a handshake or someone accidentally brushing against him that every touch felt like _more._

_“You’re really reading too far into it, Fandral,” Steve scolded. “Sex is as intimate as it gets. Be glad I stayed! You weren’t exactly the best I’ve ever had. But, practice makes perfect.”_

Fandral shook his head hard and wondered if Vinur would mind if he rested it on his shoulder. 

“Sleipnir!” Both their heads turned towards the large blonde man walking towards them, a dark haired woman at his right side and an enormous Jotun holding his hand on the other. “Slip!”

Fandral felt Vinur stiffen beside him. “Vinur? Who… who is that?”

Loki licked his lips, thinking quickly. But Thor knew that he called himself Vinur to Fandral, and he had clearly come looking for them. He was wise enough to have said something to the others. 

“That is Thor, the God of Thunder,” he said quietly. “The Jotun with him is Helblindi, the elder prince of Jotunheim. And the woman is Lady Sif, the Valkyrie I told you of earlier.” 

Sif turned and caught his eyes, her shoulders relaxing slightly. Something must have had Thor worried. Perhaps Heimdall was having trouble seeing through the concentrated magic in the area. 

He turned to Fandral with a smile. “Would you like to meet them?”

Fandral was fairly certain he was about to implode. 

“Thor,” he whispered. _“The_ Thor. Thunder and lightning and - and oh wow, he’s so tall. And so blonde. That was a thing that no one agreed on you know, the colour of his hair. Sometimes he’s ginger, sometimes he’s blonde and I’ve always wondered but wow. Blonde. And so tall. And look at Sif! _SIF_ ! She’s a Valkyrie, wow. She’s so beautiful isn’t she? And l bet she eviscerates me for saying that but I can totally see she’s an amazing warrior first and a woman is just a thing and _fuck me_ I am _rambling_ , make it stop!”

He shoved his fingers in his mouth and bit down hard. 

God, he was such a fucking _mess._

Though… why was _Thor_ here and not Loki?

Fandral wondered if maybe he’d displeased him somehow and as he chewed on his fingers, he made a mental note to double down on his ceremony that night.

Loki laughed and stood up, tugging Fandral to his feet. “Not tonight, but someday maybe you can watch them spar. If you think Sif is beautiful now, you should see her in the middle of a fight. It’s like watching a volcano erupt. Fucking terrifying, but you’ll be hard for hours.” He grinned brightly. “She’s completely asexual, though. And only beats up people who are disrespectful.” 

He skipped a little in excitement. He thought it’d be years before he was able to introduce Fandral to these three, if ever. 

“Hi, Vinur,” Sif said, as they moved closer. She studied Fandral. “Who’s your friend?”

“Lady Sif, may I introduce Fandral Smith, Priest of Loki. Fandral, this is Lady Sif of the Valkyrie, sworn to Queen Freyja of Vanaheim and Asgard’s royal family.” 

She smiled at Fandral. “You can just call me Sif. The titles get a little repetitive after a while. How’re you liking Vanaheim? It’s different from Midgard.“

Thor watched the little mortal as he excitedly shook Sif’s hand, the sleeves of his robe fluttering and his strangely coloured eyes almost glowing as he chattered at her. 

He was pretty looking, he’d admit that. But… knowing what he did now…

Blindi squeezed his hand and Thor turned to face him. “Relax,” Blindi murmured. “He’s adorable.”

Thor nodded and moved over to introduce himself. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Fandral Smithson, Priest of Loki,” he said gently. 

The mortal gawked at him and then, for some utterly ridiculous reason, _bowed._

“It - it’s such an honour to meet you, uh, Lord no, Prince? Oh no, um. Mister? No, sir. No, oh god. Ah. Thor, it - it’s really nice to meet you, sir.” 

Thor stared down at him, took in the burning red of the back of his neck, and Helblindi burst into laughter. “Thor,” he wheezed. “Can _we_ keep him?!”

Loki grinned at Fandral. His rambling really was adorable. Sif was cooing quietly, although doing her best to hide it. 

He glanced at Thor. _Something_ was bothering his brother, but it couldn’t be dire if Loki hadn’t been summoned to return to Asgard. 

“Prince Thor,” Loki said quietly, smiling softly when his brother looked at him. He cocked his head slightly in question - _‘everything okay?’_ “Do you mind if Fandral just calls you Thor?”

Thor gave Loki a tiny nod - _‘It can wait’_ \- and then smiled at him. “I think it will just be easier all around, hm? Priest Fandral, this is my beloved, Helblindi of Jotunheim.”

“You are so cute, snowflake!” 

Thor sighed but Helblindi had already moved forwards and scooped the mortal up into an enormous hug. 

“Oh wow,” Fandral’s voice was muffled and wheezing slightly, but the _awe_ was still there. “Gosh. You’re enormous, Prince Helblindi.” Helblindi set him down, but before he could let loose the dirty innuendo Thor could almost _hear,_ Loki’s little mortal started rambling. 

Again. 

“Are your markings genetic? Do they appear when you’re born or are they earned like tribal markings or tattoos? Do they hurt? When they appear I mean, I should hope they don’t hurt all the time. That’d be awful if they did, unless it was a cultural thing and - oh! Is it true about the horns? I found a text after Vinur left at Yule that says they’re full of sensitive nerves and things and -”

Thor snorted in amusement, and the mortal went deathly pale, the already abused fingers of his left hand instantly jammed back in and his eyes went wide in shame. 

Loki caught Fandral’s wrist in his hand and gently removed his fingers from his mouth. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “Thor isn’t laughing at you.” 

“No,” Sif said, laughing herself. “You sound exactly like Loki when he’s found a new thing to study.” She smiled fondly at Fandral. “All full of curiosity and questions, and not at all reticent about asking every one of them. I’ve always appreciated that. I don’t usually have the nerve to admit I don’t know something.” 

Loki looked at her, startled. Sif didn’t usually... let people know things like that. He knew because she’d been around long enough for he and Thor to pick up on that habit, but she’d never _told_ anyone before that he knew of. 

“I know Loki asked Blindi the same things when they first met, right?” 

Helblindi grinned. “You bet! That little squirt practically talked my ear off.” He chuckled. “Some are genetic,” he pointed to the ones on his forearm and cheeks, “they mark my clan. These,” he showed the backs of his hands and pointed at his legs, “are earned. Battles and life choices, family and things. They don’t hurt, they tingle. And yes.” Helblindi winked. “The horns are a mating thing. Only to be touched by the one we mate.” 

“Mate?” Helblindi saw the way the mortals fingers twitched in Loki’s and blinked in surprise. “Y-you take mates?”

“Uh, yeah,” Helblindi said quietly. “Jotuns mate only once and it’s for life. And considering we’re immortal… well. It’s a big deal when we find them.” Helblindi tangled his own hand in Thor’s. “A very big deal.”

“A-and um,” Fandral bit his lip and ducked his head. “Never mind,” he murmured. “Uh. So. I-is it time for Vinur to leave? Have you come to take him home to his kids and family?”

Helblindi frowned.

He had a _very_ good idea what Fandral had been about to ask, but he let it go. “Not yet,” he said gently. “If you don’t mind, we’d like to spend some time with you and Vinur and Slip, though.”

“I don’t mind,” Loki said softly, “so long as it’s okay with Fandral.” Slip had disappeared back to the dancing, trading kisses with as many partners as he could. Loki thought he might have been trying to break last year’s record. 

“I’ve actually never been to the Solstice Festival on Vanaheim,” Sif said, leaning closer to Fandral. “So I may have begged Thor and Blindi to bring me. Do you mind?”

Fandral shook his head and smiled at her. “Not at all, Lady Sif,” he said politely. “It’s an honour.” 

He glanced at Vinur, saw the look he had on his face as both Thor and Helblindi seemed to be communicating with him solely via expressions. 

“Um. Will - is Loki going to join us too?”

Loki hesitated. A very large part of him wanted to tell Fandral who he was, but he didn’t want to ruin the celebration by admitting he’d been lying. 

He’d tell him later. 

Sif was watching him, and something in his expression or his silence must have answered for him, because she said “Loki’s on a mission at the moment, else I know he would have come.” She smiled brightly. “He’s very fond of you, you know. He talks about you all the time.”

Loki blushed brightly. He didn’t talk about Fandral _that_ often. 

Sif gave him a look. 

Okay. So maybe he did a little. But not _all the time._

Fandral swallowed hard to hide his disappointment. 

A mission.

_“It’s just a meeting, Fandral!”_

Meetings, mission… not seeing Fandral was what it came down to. 

“That’s… very nice of him. T-to talk about a mortal. Um. Shall we then, Lady Sif? There’s a stall over there that looks like it sells fabric. I’d like some for the temple,” he said softly. 

He held his arm out and smiled when Lady Sif actually took it. She was very strong, he could feel the way she held her strength back even as her hand rested on his forearm. 

She smelt lovely too. Like something warm and spicy. 

* * *

Thor turned to Loki as soon as the mortal was out of earshot. “You can’t hide from him for too long, Loki,” he said gently. “He cares very deeply for _Vinur_.”

Loki nodded. “I know. I’ll tell him. But not tonight. I don’t want to ruin this by revealing a lie.” Because Fandral was dependent on them to get back home, and that wouldn’t be fair, to make him feel trapped by circumstance with people he couldn’t trust. 

He wouldn’t be surprised if revealing it made the other man leave Norway, though. Loki had mentioned that everyone saw the God of Lies bit and stopped there, but he hadn’t admitted that it was also true. He _was_ a liar. 

He leaned against Thor and wrapped an arm around his back. “You sure you’re okay? You seem a little frantic and that’s unlike you.” 

“It’ll keep till tomorrow,” Thor said quietly. “I just needed you close.” 

* * *

“I lived on Midgard when I was a child,” Sif said, as they studied the different fabrics the merchant was selling. “I grew up in New York, but I’ve never been to Norway. Do you like it there?”

Fandral nodded. “It’s beautiful, Lady Sif. It’s so _green_ now, and the lake in front of the temple is almost completely clear. The locals are friendly too.”

He ran his fingers over a bolt of deep green silk, the entire thing hemmed in thick gold threads. “This,” he murmured and the merchant cheerfully accepted the handful of Norwegian currency.

Fandral took the wrapped fabric and hesitated as they approached where Vinur and Prince Thor were standing, Helblindi wandering back with a drink. 

“Lady Sif… May I ask you a favour?” Sif nodded. “When Loki is home from his-” _meeting_ “- mission, would you give this to him from me?” He shuffled his feet and held it out. “It - it’s too pretty to sit on my altar and rot.”

Sif took the fabric carefully, studying Fandral’s face. “I will give it to him when he returns to Asgard. You have my word.” She touched a hand to his cheek, smiling at him. “Tell me about your altar to Loki? I imagine it’s beautiful.”

Fandral blushed. “Um, I try to keep it as traditional as I can. There weren’t a lot of texts and images of what Loki even _liked_ besides sweets. I always leave a goblet of blood and honey though, some kind of sweet thing and whatever flowers are in bloom. And, recently I found a perfect raven feather. So I put that there too.”

He leaned his cheek into Sif’s hand hoping it was as subtle as he thought, and sighed. Touch was still _so_ wonderful. 

“But Vinur says he visited me while I was sick and left me the glow stick. It has an orb of magic on it.” He bit his lip and glanced over at Vinur shyly. “Um, is it - c-can a mortal be with someone like Vinur? Or is it - I mean, because they mate? And live forever and…” he felt his cheeks burn and dropped his gaze. “Oh god, please ignore me,” he mumbled. “That’s just… no.”

“My mother was a mortal,” Sif said quietly. “I grew up on Midgard because that’s where she was from. She was a seamstress in New York. My father was an Asgardian. They’re both gone now, but I asked my father once if he ever regretted marrying my mother. He was mortal, too, but he was still almost five hundred when he died. He said he never regretted a moment, even though he missed her everyday.” 

She trailed her thumb over his cheekbone. He was very pretty, and so shy and unsure. She knew from what Loki had told her that he’d been hurt by someone he’d loved, but she hadn’t wanted to hunt that person down and beat them senseless until now. 

“The Jotnar have an interesting view on mortal love. Helblindi told me once that it is considered a great honor, that someone with so short a lifespan, comparatively, would willingly give it all to one person. The presence of a loved one is a gift. Even if it only lasts a moment.” 

She smiled. “I like that you ask questions. It means you want to learn. Loki would say that change is good. And your altar sounds amazing.” She thought about the sorts of things Loki liked. 

“He likes sweets, of course. All tricksters do. It has something to do with their magic.” She thought for a moment. “His favorite fruit is blueberries. He loves danishes, and he drinks obnoxious amounts of green tea. He doesn’t care for spicy food. Which means more for me.” She winked at Fandral. “Let’s see... his favorite shapeshifts are a snake, a mockingbird, and a magpie. He loves books and stories. And he collects shiny things - pretty rocks, sea glass, old coins. His room looks like a dragon hoard.” 

She licked her lips. “He loves to travel and hearing stories of travels. His favorite flower is a lotus. He is terrible with a sword, although he’s better than anyone I’ve ever met with daggers. He plays the lute, although not many people know that, and he has a lovely singing voice. He writes songs, I think.”

She smiled softly at Fandral. “And he thinks you’re wonderful, although you frighten him a little.”

Fandral stared at Sif. “I - I _frighten_ him?” He sighed and nodded his head slowly. “I’m not doing this right, am I? I’ve done something or offended him and - and everyone’s too nice to say something about it, but it needs to be said, clearly. Steve always said it was important to tell me when I’d messed up or misunderstood something.”

He looked back at Sif and tried very hard to not let his tears fall. “Can you tell him I’m sorry?”

Sif placed her hands on Fandral’s shoulders. “You misunderstand. You are the first follower Loki has _ever_ had. That temple you’ve made your own? He built that, and barely anyone came to it, and fewer ever went back a second time. You pray to him every day, morning and night on the clock. Asides from Thor, I don’t think Loki has ever had anyone in his life be so consistently _there_ for _him.”_

She smiled sadly. “You’re mortal and he knows it, and it scares him. I think it scares him more that one day you’ll wake up and realize you’ve been praying to the wrong god. I think differently.” She squeezed his shoulders gently. “But the thing about the God of _Lies_ is that his best lie is the mask he wears.” 

She tilted her head in a conciliatory gesture. “By Asgardian standards, he’s still just a kid. Teenager. And not nearly as confident as he pretends to be. You’re doing everything right, Fandral. Just... be patient with him. He’s never had a follower before. He’s just as terrified of messing it all up as you are.”

Fandral reached up and grasped her wrists, totally forgetting that she could kill him with a pinky. 

“He _called_ to me,” he said softly. “My mom left me a letter, told me to go where my heart calls me. And it’s there! I swear, I felt it when I saw his name in my textbook footnote. And it makes me wonder if it’s why I couldn’t have Amaira and Steve ghosted me and all the other stuff that happened. Maybe I’m not meant for fatherhood and love,” he grinned crookedly at her. 

“I’m happy to dedicate my entire life, mind, body and _soul_ to Loki. I’m _his.”_

Sif grinned at him, a fierce, deadly thing that held pain and determination both. “I understand.” She had once stood before a tiny traveling altar in a shitty hotel room and performed a dedication ritual to Freyja, a goddess of both beauty and war, death and love. 

“I want to tell you a secret. Loki once told me that seidr - magic - is soul. Even the tiniest spark is a piece of what makes Loki who he is. That staff he gave you with the glowing orb? That’s a piece of his soul.” Her smile softened. “If that helps explain at all how much you mean to him.”

Thor heard the mortal make an odd gasping noise over where he and Sif had come to a standstill, his golden eyes wide in shock and awe. He whispered something to Sif who nodded back, and Thor felt Loki shift in concern when the mortal swayed on his feet. 

“Perhaps you should head over there,” Thor murmured. “Let’s take him home, hm? He seems exhausted. And you don’t want him to miss the Solstice.”

He watched Loki scurry over, and turned his head up to Helblindi’s with a sheepish look. “I want to take Loki home,” he said in answer to Blindi’s unasked question. “I need to know he’s safe. Just for tonight.” He accepted Blindi’s gentle kiss with a sigh. “And then I very much need you to take me apart and put me back together again.” 

Blindi smiled at him and pecked him lightly on the nose. “Anything you need, _fy ffrind_.” 

“I don’t know that one,” Thor mumbled. “Whats it mean?” 

Blindi just hummed. “You’ll see.”

Loki stepped up beside Fandral, placing a bracing hand on his back. He glanced at Sif, who gave him a reassuring smile. 

“The third sun is setting,” he said softly. The sky was beginning to grow dark as the light faded. “I promised you wouldn’t miss the Solstice on Midgard.”

Fandral blinked and nodded. He let go of Sif with an apologetic smile and stepped back. “Of course. Um, thank you, Lady Sif. F-for the chat.” He bowed politely to her, his robe shifting as he did. “It was truly an honour to meet you.” 

He straightened up and grinned at Vinur. “So. Hometime for the mortal.”

Loki smiled softly at him and nodded. “Do you want to ride the BiFrost? The Rainbow Bridge?”

“Will it hurt?” 

Thor clapped a hand gently on the man’s shoulder and shook his head. “It will not hurt you, Fandral. It may… I think the word I’m after is… tingle? But it will not hurt you.” 

He nudged them over closer together and grasped Mjolnir tightly. “Hold on to your mortal, Vinur,” he said with a grin and summoned the BiFrost down in a rush of warmth and rainbows. He heard the mortal’s nervous, “Oh WOW”, and they were gone. 

Heimdall had aimed the BiFrost right outside the temple, burning the ring of magic into the grasses like a divine welcome mat. 

Loki didn’t let go of Fandral right away, holding onto the other man until he was certain he was steady. “It’s very fast,” he said quietly, loosing his grip and taking a step back. “Thank you for coming with me today. It was a lot of fun.”

Fandral nodded dazedly. “Fast,” he agreed weakly. “Wow.” 

He shook his head to try and clear the flashing rainbow lights from it and then laughed. “Holy shit. I went to another _realm_!” When Vinur grinned back at him, Fandral threw himself forwards and hugged him tightly. “Thank you,” he whispered in his ear as he drew back. “That was the single best day of my entire life, Vinur.” 

He blushed and rubbed at his neck. “Um, i-if you’d like… you could, um, stay? F-for my Solstice ritual? It should be fun?”

Loki heard the shift of footsteps behind him that quickly stopped, but he didn’t need Thor to tell him that having sex with Fandral under the name Vinur would be a bad idea. 

“Thank you,” he said softly. “I am honored to be asked by you, Fandral, but I think I am going to have to decline this time.”

“Of course, it was - that was totally inappropriate,” Fandral muttered and moved back towards the entrance of the temple. “Um. I - I am _so_ sorry, but I - I have to - it’s sunset and -” he swallowed and didn’t look up from the ground as his fumbling hand found the netting on the temple door. “Th-thank you, again, for a wonderful day, Vinur.” 

He turned and entered the temple as fast he could, the netting falling back into place as the wooden door closed quietly. He moved instantly over to the darkest corner left and slouched down into it and put his head in his hands, eyes burning with shame. 

“Way to go Fandral,” he muttered to himself. “Way to fuck up the only friendship you’ve ever had.” 

* * *

“Loki?” Thor deliberately kept his voice quiet enough the mortal wouldn’t hear, and held his hand out to his brother with a sigh. “Come on then.”

Loki hesitated. That... there was no way that he could make that not hurt. And trying to explain himself wouldn’t make it better. 

Not today. 

“I am a coward and a liar,” he muttered, as he slipped his hand into Thor’s. He shut his eyes and leaned his head against his brother’s shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

“You are not,” Thor said kindly. “He will get over it.” 

* * *

Fandral waited until the sun was down and the moon was overhead before he moved outside to do his ceremony. He stood for a long time, just staring at the fire burning merrily, the wine and dagger and fruit he’d set out and sighed. 

He’d lost the enthusiasm he’d felt for it earlier. 

The echo of Vinur rejecting him still stung, and burned in his chest. 

He sat down in front of the fire and poked it with a stick.

“Don’t take it too hard.” Sleipnir grinned at Fandral’s startled yelp and moved over to the fire, dropping down next to it. “I hope you don’t mind me dropping in, but you didn’t seem too busy yet, and I didn’t get to say goodnight.” 

He leaned over and clapped a hand on Fandral’s shoulder. “I think you’re awesome. And so does Vinur. Don’t fuss too much over him saying no. He’s had a bit of a rough time with the whole courting thing. Dating, I guess, is your word for it. Last person was a fucking heartless bitch and she nearly killed him. He does like you, though. A lot.” 

He leaned over and gave Fandral a loud and sloppy kiss on the cheek, and dropped a small braid of white and silver horse hair into his palm. “That’s mine. It’s tied to me, so if you ever need a lift or you’re in trouble, hold it tight and call for me. I’ll hear you and I’ll come.”

Fandral shrugged a shoulder and smiled sadly at him. “I understand the dating thing,” he said quietly. “The man I loved left in the middle of the night. Took me weeks to track him down. He took everything. My chance to be a dad, my trust and self worth.” 

He sighed and gripped tight to the braid. “Thank you, Sleipnir. I’ll treasure this.”

“Make sure you also use it if you need it. I got a whole gorgeous mane of the stuff. I can make you twelve more.” 

He stood up and stretched. “Do your Solstice ritual, Priest of Loki. You’ll regret it if you miss your chance. I’ll see you for Samhain, if not sooner.” He gave a jaunty wave and leapt through a doorway to Yggdrasil, shifting as he moved and trotting along the branches. 

He had sweets for his baby siblings, and quite the story.

The braid from Sleipnir earned itself a special place on his altar, and when he moved back outside, Fandral shook himself head to toe and did his best to ignore the sting of rejection that was still very present. The first time since Steve had left him that he’d put himself out there, and he’d been shot down. 

He moved out into the lake, robe and boxer shorts left on the shore, and scooped handfuls of the gritty sand from the bottom to scrub himself from tip to toe. His mandala of light was already in place before the fire, a perfect spiral of shiny pebbles and stones, shells and coins that he had already had in the temple. And in the middle was a wooden bowl of blueberries and Loki’s staff and seidr ball. His venture to the town the day before had been one of his supply trips, those themselves having dropped in frequency to once a month as he learned to become more self-sufficient. 

Fandral set more little candles in dishes of water in front of his gardens to encourage them to grow strong and bright, and then moved back to stand naked before his fire. He tossed his vial of sandalwood oil into it and stepped back as it ignited with a rush of heat. 

He took a deep breath, and called out clearly, “Praise and Hail be to you, Loki. My only God, he who wields both dagger and word as one. Thanks be to you, from this humble and devoted worshipper on this the longest of the sun’s dances. As the Earth reveals its bounty, as the ground begins its fertile times, cleanse this one. As the time for rebirth and new growth is here, bless the grounds on which this one lives and grows.” 

Fandral drew the silver dagger slowly from its sheath and drew a line neatly down his arm, not deep enough to cause him to bleed out, but enough that he hissed at the burn and his blood pooled easily in the palm of his hand. 

“I give to you, on this the Solstice Night, the blood of your most devoted,” he said as he let the blood drip into the bowl of blueberries, over the glowing ball of seidr and the spiral of his mandala and then finally into the fire. 

“I give to you, on this the Solstice Night, the wine this one drinks in your honour, Loki.” He picked up the wine glass, took a long drink then repeated the process. 

Fandral ran his hands slowly down his torso, down his belly and brushed the fingers of his left hand softly over the length of his half-hard cock. “I give to you, on this the Solstice Night, the seed of your most devoted worshipper,” he murmured and stroked himself gently. “That you might take this offering and bring new growth.” 

The blood on his hand was wet and warm, and Fandral let his eyes fall closed and his head tilt back as he stroked himself with slow, gentle movements. Not like the frenzied, almost desperate way he’d made himself come for Loki when he’d pledged himself to the God. This time was… more intimate. He let his mind wander, to remember how it’d felt to have arms around him again, to know that he had pleased his God and the things he’d learned about him. 

And he saw a flash of high cheekbones, delicate hands with dark painted nails and brilliant green eyes. Fandral came with a soft cry and gasped as his orgasm seemed to linger on. He repeated the same process as he had done with both blood and wine, and then closed his eyes again. His hands were sticky with blood and come, he was sweaty and shaking but his heart and mind felt _clear_. 

“My mind, my body, my heart and my soul I have pledged to you, Loki,” he said softly, and drew in a deep, slow breath. He could smell nothing now but sandalwood and the fire. He was trembling all over and the nest of soft cushions he’d set down near the mandala were beginning to call to him. 

“And now I give to you my life. Until my heart beats its last, and my lungs draw their last breath of air for this body, I am _yours_ , Loki. Praise and Hail be to you, my beloved God.” 

* * *

The rush of heat and magic was not unexpected. Loki was sitting in his bed, having left Thor in Helblindi’s care and retreating to his own solitude. The familiar tingle under his skin told him Fandral was once again praying to him, and Loki closed his eyes at the sensation. 

He uncurled the fingers of his left hand, calling fire to his palm with ease. It burned crimson and gold, and Loki gazed into it for a moment, before whispering Fandral’s name quietly and rolling the flames between his hands. 

The image of the young man was not as clear as it would have been in water, but Loki could feel his magic connecting more easily with the fire, for the Solstice and the flames Fandral himself was using. 

He let his seidr roll through the element, catching that tingle of magic and power that was Fandral’s prayers, and feeding his own power into it. 

“Blessed be you this night, my only follower. May the Sun light for you a clear and hopeful path to follow, and may all the days of this year for you be bright, no matter where you roam. This your god begs the universe grant you, with his whole heart.” 

He pushed his magic outward, toward Fandral and toward the world at large. No matter where Fandral went, he hoped his life was beautiful and filled with good things. Bright like the Sun. 

Loki let the fire in his palms burn down until it finally snuffed itself out. Then he rolled over in his bed and buried his face in his pillow. The whole of his room smelled of sandalwood and he loved and hated it. 

He closed his eyes. It was the best Summer Solstice he’d had in years. He hated to think it was the rise before the fall.

* * *

Fenris lifted his head as Uncle Thor approached his mama’s bedroom door and shook his head. “Mama hasn’t come out yet,” he said quietly, words a little muffled as they always were when he refused to shift to human form. “He’s sad.”

Uncle Thor sighed sadly and Fenris narrowed his eyes. “It’s that stupid mortal man, isn’t it?”

“He isn’t stupid, Fen,” Uncle Thor chastised him gently. “He’s a very sweet man, and your mama cares for him.”

Fen growled long and low in his chest and stood up, his form shifting fluidly as he did until he stood with his fists balled at his sides and head tipped back to glare at his uncle. 

“Mama doesn’t need him!” He was shouting, but he couldn’t help it. “He doesn’t need some stupid mortal! They _die!_ And then mama is all alone again! He’s got us,” Fen crossed his arms. “We’re enough!”

Uncle Thor shook his head and smiled a little. “Your mama loves you,” he agreed quietly. “And he loves me, and Amma, Afi and Blindi too. And everyone else in his life. But he’s _lonely_ Fen. Very, very lonely. And you don’t want him to hurt, do you?” 

Fen bared his teeth at Uncle Thor, his stomach twisting and snarling in protest. His mama wasn’t _lonely!_

“That’s bullshit and I hate you!”

Fen turned tail and bolted, shifted as he rounded the corner and leaped clear through a window. The forests were where he needed to be. 

Thor sighed and knocked softly on the door. “I know you’re awake, Lo. May I come in and talk with you?”

Loki was curled in bed, but not asleep. He’d slept poorly the night before and didn’t see that changing anytime soon. Not even Kanil’s chamomile tea had helped. His stomach was in knots. 

“If you must,” he said, loud enough for Thor to hear. The door unlocked and his brother pushed it open, stepping inside. 

“He doesn’t hate you,” he said quietly. “He’s just upset. And probably right. I shouldn’t have gone to see my follower in the first place.”

Thor snorted and shoved his way into Loki’s bed, wrapping himself around his baby brother and sighing. “Fen’s almost completely ruled by his hormones right now,” he said bluntly. “His opinion counts for shit. _You_ on the other hand, should not be miserable. Did Fandral not perform a ritual for you? You don’t look like you enjoyed it if he did.” 

He waited, but Loki just sighed quietly. 

“Lo,” he pushed his nose into the back of Loki’s neck and sighed himself. “He’ll get over it. It was just a rejection for sex. He isn’t going to be hurt still over something so small.” He hesitated, remembering his mother’s words to encourage Loki.

“Why don’t you go back this morning? See if he left you an offering and leave a gift of your own?”

“He did. His rituals are extravagant. Lovely, really. I imagine I could power some really large spells just from the rush they give me.” 

He rolled over and buried his face in Thor’s chest. “He’s going to be furious about the lie, Thor. Worse, he’s going to be _hurt_.” He closed his eyes and clutched at the hem of Thor’s tunic. “I don’t want to hurt people, you know. It just seems to happen.”

“I know you never mean to hurt anyone, little Loki. Go back this morning, hm? Set your mind at ease. No doubt he will be a little hurt that Vinur is not real, but the _sentiment_ behind the name is.” He brushed his fingers down Loki’s hair and held him tightly. 

“You’re allowed to love him, you know,” he said softly. “He is _yours_.” Thor pressed his face down into Loki’s hair and smiled. “He won’t be hurt still by Vinur’s rejection when he gets to meet his God.”

Loki trailed his fingertips over the embroidery in the hem of Thor’s tunic. This was one of the shirts Mother had needed to resize years ago. There were tiny little flowers sewn into the hemming. Loki could feel his mother’s magic in them. Tiny spells of love and protection. 

“Do you think so?” he whispered hopefully. “I don’t want to lose him. He’s... he’s important to me.”

“I’m sure of it,” Thor said quietly. 

If the mortal hurt his brother over something as stupid as a rejected offer of sex… 

Well. Thor would make his life very wet and miserable until it ended. 

* * *

Fandral was ritual hungover, he decided. The cleanup was easy, but there was a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that something was - _wrong_. 

He’d bathed in the lake again, cleaned his blade and set the messy blueberries on the altar for Loki. Now, he was simply sprawled over the throne in nothing but his jeans and robe, flicking through a copy of _IT_ he’d picked up. 

He gave up though and rubbed at his eyes with a sigh. Fandral got to his feet and moved to where he kept his small mirror for shaving and stared at his face. 

“Am I that ugly?” He poked and pushed at his face and then let his hands drop away. “What is it about me that no one _wants?!”_

* * *

Loki dressed slowly. There was a strong feeling of lethargy tugging on his limbs - a desire to crawl uselessly back into the bed and lay there until the world sorted itself out. 

Sorting itself out, of course, would probably mean eighty or so years would go by and his follower would die. And he didn’t want that. 

Ever. But especially not right now. 

There was nothing extravagant in the clothes he chose. Black slacks and a simple green tunic. The most expensive thing were his boots, lined as they were with otter fur. 

He stared at his hair in the mirror and decided he didn’t care. He’d slept on it the night before and the curls were more prominent than usual, but he let them be. He just wanted to get to Fandral, to talk to him and be reassured that the other man understood why he had lied. 

It was in his nature. And he was a coward. 

Loki picked up the green fabric that Sif had given him as soon as they returned. Fandral had bought it and asked her to give it to him, and it was beautiful. Soft and lovely. He trailed his fingers through it and opened a doorway to Yggdrasil, stepping along the branches. She hummed quietly at him and despite his fears, Loki smiled. She had liked Fandral, too. 

“Wish me luck,” he whispered, and stepped out onto the grasses of Norway. 

He ran the fabric through his fingers nervously as he stared at his temple. Fandral was inside, and Loki and he could talk and everything would be all right. 

It would all be all right. He just had to go inside. 

Fandral was singing quietly to himself when he backed out of the temple, his robe sleeves pushed up, arm bandaged from his ritual and hips swaying as he bopped to his own song.

“If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain… If you're not into yoga, if you have half a brain… If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape… I'm the love that you've looked for - _Holy fuck_!” 

The new basket of freshly cut flowers and herbs, his blueberry and strawberry seeds all went spilling out across the ground and Fandral stared at Vinur. 

“V-Vinur?” He swallowed and twisted his hands together behind his back. “Uh. Hey. Hello, I mean. Um. H-how was your um, solstice? Mine was…” he trailed off awkwardly and shrugged. “What’re you doing here? I didn’t expect to see you again after I was so… y’know,” he mumbled.

“Good! It was good. Restful.” Lie. Was that a habit now? “I thought maybe we could... um...” He shook his head. “Let me... help here.” He rolled his wrist, magic catching the fallen flowers and seeds in curls of bright green seidr, lifting them and placing them back in the basket. 

He stepped forward and picked it up, holding it out for Fandral. “How... um. Your arm. Does it hurt badly?”

Fandral narrowed his eyes at the flicker of Vinur’s magic. 

It was the exact same green as Loki’s seidr orb.

_”I have three sons and a daughter.”_

He bit his lip. “It’s fine,” he said slowly and softly. “Vinur… what… are you alright? You’re not acting like yourself. You didn’t have to come back if I made you uncomfortable last night. It was totally inappropriate of me, and I’m sorry.” Fandral sighed softly. “I don’t even know why I said it,” he mumbled. “It seemed like… maybe you were… but you weren’t and I was…” he shook his head. 

“No, no, you didn’t. It was... really nice, to be asked. It didn’t make me uncomfortable. I just...” He shuffled his feet, fighting the urge to pace. “Can we... just sit... somewhere? I need to talk. To tell you something. Should’ve told you before but I...” He bit the tip of his tongue to quiet himself and closed his eyes, shaking his head. A few deep breaths and he opened them again. “Tea? Or coffee? I can do coffee too.”

Fandral stared closely at Vinur, at the man he thought of as a friend and then stepped closer to put a hand gently on his arm.

“I’m here,” he said quietly. “Just tell me what’s bothering you, Vinur. You’re my friend, remember?” Fandral smiled at him. “I may not have ever had one before, but even I know we should be able to just talk. Tell me?”

Loki licked his lips. “That’s what Vinur means,” he said quietly. “It’s the Asgardian word for friend.” He looked away from Fandral’s face. “I wasn’t sure... I was nervous and... lies are easy. I guess. I’m, um...” He swallowed, sighed. “Loki.” He looked up at Fandral, swallowing back his nerves. “I’m Loki.”

Fandral blinked at him, cocked his head and blinked again. 

And then he laughed. 

“No,” he snorted. “No. Loki… Loki visited me once and left the glow stick. But you… you’re my _friend_.” He shook his head and wiped his nose. “Fuck, Vinur. That’s not funny.”

Loki winced slightly and nodded. “Yes. I visited you when you were sick. I left the staff. It’s made from one of the Rowan branches of you altar. And my seidr is warm. It was cold in the temple and I wanted you safe. 

“And then I came back later and introduced myself as Vinur. But it’s still... me. Loki, _vinur þinn._ Your friend.”

The world was doing a very strange thing where it was swaying beneath Fandral’s feet. Just like the deck of the ferry he’d ridden to get here. 

“But…” he reached out to grab at _something_ and gave up to just sit on the ground. “But I -” _trusted you_ “- I was praying to you. And… and I was _here_.” 

Fandral could feel the swaying of the earth getting stronger and his hands were beginning to shake.

“You have three sons and a daughter,” he whispered, eyes wide and fixed on the ground. “You - your magic matches the staff.” He looked up at Vinur, at _Loki_ , and felt the first few tears slide down his cheeks. 

“You _lied_ to me? E-even after _everything_ I told you - I told you about _Amaira_ !” He got clumsily to his feet and snatched his hand away when Loki - _fucking LOKI_ \- tried to help him. “I - I prayed to you,” he repeated stupidly. “I used my prayers to you like - like a _journal!_ Was this a joke? A Trick from the Trickster God on the man _stupid_ enough to want to dedicate his worthless life to you?!”

“Of course not! And your life isn’t worthless.” He moved to reach for Fandral again but the man pulled away, so he stopped and pressed his thumb into his palm. 

“I was...” Terrified. “I wasn’t sure about revealing myself to you immediately. I didn’t know if that was _done,_ so I just... I made up a name. It’s still me. This is me. I’m Jotun. I was adopted by Odin and Frigga, raised as Thor’s brother. I have four children. I like having you here. None of what I told you was a lie.”

“No,” Fandral whispered, “no. _You_ were the lie. It’s no wonder you rejected me! I wanted to believe that you were someone that I could be happy just… worshipping. Adoring. I _looked up to you_ for inspiration to be a better person! And you - you’re -”

Fandral could feel his whole body shaking and his eyes were burning. He could barely see through the tears. 

“I - I came here to… to try and make sure you weren’t forgotten. To just… live in peace and die here.” Fandral wiped at his eyes and shook his head again. 

“Love is for children,” he muttered and turned his back on Loki. “I… I never thought of you as the God of Lies, Loki.” He turned back and stared at him. “Never. You were a Trickster. Chaos. A father and a mother. Both and neither and everything.” 

Fandral’s took another step back. “I think I’d like you to leave,” he whispered roughly. “I - I just… _can’t.”_

“That’s not why—“ Loki began, but Yggdrasil gave a warning creak behind him and he realized he had moved toward Fandral. Moved to grab him. He stopped and forced himself to take a step back. 

“I’m sorry.” He swallowed and nodded. “I’ll leave. I...” He nodded again and stepped through the doorway Yggdrasil opened and started walking along her branches. 

“Take me somewhere nice?” he whispered to the World Tree. “I don’t want to go home yet. Take me somewhere new.”

* * *

Fandral screamed until his voice gave out, cried until his eyes were swollen and dry and then he packed his bags. Almost a full year he’d been here, and it took only an hour to pack. 

He left the garden, figuring it would either grow wild or die. His fires were all buried and he stood before the altar for a long, long time. 

He trailed his fingers over the sweets, the goblet and dagger. The feather and sketches he’d done, the detailed portraits of _Vinur_. He stared at the little staff Loki had made for him, and touched the glowing orb with a shaking hand. 

“But _why_ ,” he whispered. “What the fuck is it about me that makes people want to hurt me all the fucking time?!” 

Fandral snatched Sleipnir’s gift and looked around once more. His little cot was neatly made, left in place for anyone else who came. The shower and toilet were both outside and would break down over time, as neither was made from plastic nor metal. 

He ran his fingers over Loki’s throne, laid his robe over the seat, turned his back and left. 

The townspeople barely spared him a glance until he boarded the ferry. Fandral kept his head down and his sleeves pulled tight over his arms. 

He’d made a fucking fool of himself here, daring to think he was good enough to worship Loki. 

All he was good for was being the butt of the universes jokes.

* * *

“Your brother is frantic.” 

Loki didn’t look up at the voice. He remained where he was with his head pillowed on his arms, staring out across the water. 

“It’s unlike you to be gone so long from your children.” 

He let out a long breath as Isis sank down next to him in the sands. Yggdrasil had taken him to a new world, freshly formed. The vegetation was still growing for the first time and the first larvae were only now hatching from their eggs. There was little here but the calm and steady sound of the sea. 

“Who called you?” he asked softly. 

“Sif. When even your mother couldn’t find you, she looked for tricksters. She tried Reynardine first, but he’s not strong enough to break through your spells.” She trailed a hand over his hair. It was greasy from days of not being washed. He supposed he smelled, too. “I’m sorry about your follower.” 

Loki shrugged. “I expected it. I knew he’d realize eventually that he made a mistake. I’m not the sort of god that people worship.” He pushed himself to his feet. 

Isis followed. “Mischief has its place. Else I wouldn’t also be a trickster.”

Loki laughed bitterly. “I’m not the god of mischief.” He turned a sharp grin on her. “I’m the god of unwanted, broken things.” He summoned a doorway to Yggdrasil with a sharp brush of his hand. “Thanks for coming to get me. I’ll go home and tell everyone I’m not dead.” 

“Loki—“

But he threw himself through the doorway and away from her. He didn’t want to hear it. Four days now and there had been no prayers, no rituals or even a whisper of worship. Fandral had realized he wasn’t worth the effort. 

About time, really. Loki was actually beginning to hope.

* * *

“This place _sucks_.” 

Fandral slapped at yet another mosquito as he trudged through the thick jungle of South America. His guide was amazing, and was doing her best to keep him interested, but he hated it. 

The same way he’d hated New York. 

And Rome. 

And Greece.

Paris.

Sydney. 

Tokyo. 

He hadn’t stopped moving once in the last year, and he’d had enough. 

“Tila,” he called out. “That’s it darling. I’m done. No more. You head on back, yeah?” 

She fussed and fretted, but Fandral just waited until she gave in and left. 

She’d been paid in full, so a dead man in the jungle wouldn’t matter. He sat down on a boulder and rubbed at his face as he pulled the frayed and worn braid of Sleipnir’s mane out. 

He turned it over in his hand and then closed his eyes. “I don’t know if you’ll even hear me,” he murmured. “But I think I’m lost, Sleipnir.”

* * *

Sleipnir and Fen shared a worried glance as Loki wandered into the kitchen. It was the same as it had been for the past year. He rarely spoke, and when he did, it was biting and sarcastic. Thor got the worst of it, and Sif, but he’d snapped at Amma Frigga a few times, as well. 

There had been... incidents. The first time someone other than Fandral had stepped into his temple in Norway, Loki had stormed the isle in the form of a sea serpent so large, he put the myths of Jor to shame. He’d scared off the would-be follower and half the people in the nearby village with a tantrum that nearly flooded the whole country in his attempts to destroy the temple. When he’d finally returned to Asgard, he’d gotten completely drunk and had to be restrained when he was caught trying to do a spell to erase himself from the pantheon so “idiot people will stop fucking worshipping a useless lie.” 

And there were no more tricks. No more games or teasing or even smiles. He didn’t even call himself the God of Mischief anymore. It was God of Lies, or God of Unwanted, Broken Things. 

The only person that seemed able to pull him out of his funk was Hel. She of the bright tutus and brighter personality. And it looked like they were going to need her now. 

“I’ll go see if our little sister is up,” Slip murmured, rising from his seat. 

The sharp tug of magic on the back of his neck froze him in his tracks, and a quiet, wholly unexpected voice met his ears. 

“On second thought, _you_ get Hel. I have somewhere I need to be.” He disappeared before Fen could ask questions, racing along the path Yggdrasil spread out for him. Where the Hel... South America? Really? Land of humidity and mosquitos? 

What the fuck was Fandral doing _here?_

He stepped out of the doorway right in front of the other man. “I’ll have you know I fucking hate the climate here.” He bit back the instinctive anger. Fandral had sounded lost. And this wasn’t entirely his fault. 

Mostly, yes. But not entirely. 

“What do you need?”

Fandral stared at him for a moment and tried to remember how to _speak._

“I - I thought - I started to wonder if maybe I dreamed you,” he said quietly. “It’s just… you said to - to use your mane braid if I was lost, and now I’m in a _jungle_ and I think that counts as lost, because I’ve never been in a jungle before and I have to be honest here and say I _really_ don’t like it. And. My guide left, she’s gone, I sent her away and I’m not supposed to be here. I need to go _home,_ to the temple. I need…” he trailed off, cheeks burning as he realised he’d been rambling. 

He hadn’t done that since… 

“I’m _lost,_ ” he whispered. “I just… if you don’t hate me too much… can you please take me home?”

Sleipnir studied him for a long moment. “I can take you there.” And when Fandral got there and saw what had become of it, he’d take him somewhere else. 

“And I don’t hate you. Probably despite my better judgment.” He held out his hand. He might not hate Fandral, but he wasn’t carrying him. He could walk on his own two legs. 

“Come on, then.”

Fandral put his hand carefully into Sleipnir’s, waiting for him to yank at it or twist it or something. But he just held it, not tightly or nicely, but still. 

It was the first touch he’d had since the day on Vanaheim. 

He kept his eyes down as Sleipnir led him through Yggdrasil’s paths, and he figured the fact he couldn’t hear her singing said an awful lot about who he was as a person. 

Norway was as perfect as ever, and Fandral breathed in deeply in relief, even as Sleipnir let go of his hand quickly. Fandral tried not to let it bother him that he was uncomfortable touching him now. 

He turned to look at the lake, but frowned when it seemed… different. There were odd patches of dark muck in the water, flattened trees at the sides and the temple -

“What… what _happened!?”_

Sleipnir looked at the temple uncomfortably. He did not like remembering that day. His mother didn’t get angry very often, and Sleipnir had never been afraid of him before. Not until he’d seen the creature he had turned into. 

He hoped Jor didn’t look like that when he grew up. Brothers shouldn’t be scared of each other. 

“There was a sea serpent that attacked the temple about three months after you left. I’m sure you’ll hear about it if you go looking. Flooded the whole country and collapsed the mountain. Part of the sea is dead now.” He waved his hand at the water. “That’s the dark spots. Nothing grows there. Deathrot. It’ll probably take the whole sea eventually.” 

He shrugged and looked at Fandral. “I can take you somewhere else. There’s nothing here worth staying for.”

“A sea serpent,” Fandral whispered. He wandered over closer to the ruins of the temple, of his _home_ , and sighed. “I guess it’s a good thing I always keep a tent in my bag.” 

He moved over to the edge of the lake and shook his head sadly. “It’s a pity. The water there was almost always completely clear.”

Fandral set his backpack down and turned to Sleipnir. 

“Thank you for bringing me home, Sleipnir Lokison,” he said politely. “I don’t need to be anywhere else. I’ve got references and things, and I’m sure I’ll be alright.” 

He looked around and smiled, pointing at a small rise about a mile away. “There,” he said softly. “I’ll build my new temple there. Just… do me a favour and don’t tell Loki? I’d like to just… let him know when it’s built. He must be sad that this one was ruined.”

Sleipnir cocked his head at Fandral, studying him for a long moment. The man wasn’t stupid. He didn’t think it would take too long before he figured out that it hadn’t been a random sea serpent. Especially if he talked to the locals. Loki hadn’t been a _quiet_ attacking monster. There had been a lot of demands to get out of his temple. 

His magic ran like mercury through his fingers, silver and white strands of hair from his horse form wrapping into a long braid. He was growing out his hair. 

He held the braid out to Fandral. “The other one won’t work anymore. One-time use. It’s pretty useful in spells, though. It can dry wood, if all you’ve got is wet.” He shrugged. Fandral could do whatever he wanted with it. Burn it. Eat it. Whatever. 

Fandral took the braid slowly, like he hadn’t been expecting to receive another one. Probably a fair expectation. Sleipnir wasn’t sure he wanted to give it, except he liked this stupid mortal that had broken his mother’s heart. Damn him, but he liked Fandral. 

“So that’s it, then? You just... start worshipping him again like nothing happened?” There was more confusion than accusation in his words. He didn’t _understand_. “I thought you’d have found a better deity to follow than the God of Lies.”

Fandral shook his head. “Not like nothing happened. First, I rebuild what Loki destroyed. And then I’m going to rebuild what _I_ destroyed.” 

He sighed and picked his backpack up, slinging it over his shoulders. “The thing is… we both fucked up,” he said bluntly. “But there’s no deity that’s ‘better’ than your mother.” 

Fandral patted his backpack. “I’ve been all over the world hunting down every book, scroll, painting and doodled-on napkin to learn about Loki. And the thing that I forgot about him, is that he _was_ the God of Lies. I… I was only hurt by his deception so badly because all I could hear in my head was Steve’s voice telling me that I deserved it.” 

The backpack weighed a fucking tonne if he was being honest. But it had been worth it. 

And, he thought, necessary.

“Is the town still standing? I’m gonna need tools.”

Sleipnir nodded slowly. Not stupid at all. 

“Mother drove off at least half of the villagers when he attacked. Those that remain might not appreciate what you’re doing.” He tilted his head. “Or they may think you’re doing the one thing that could appease him. Either way, the village is smaller, but it’s still there.” 

He waved a hand at the backpack. “Drop off what you don’t need to carry with you. I’ll take you to the village.” If Fandral was being honest, and Sleipnir didn’t really believe the man was lying, this could only benefit the rest of them. His mother needed something that they couldn’t give him. Maybe it was something Fandral could. 

He hoped it was.

* * *

Fandral set his tools down and fell with a sigh onto the ground. There were only weeks until winter, and though he needed to get the roof on and waterproofed… he was exhausted.

But, “Time waits for no stupid mortal,” he groaned and got back to his feet. Shingles and nails in hand, he clambered back up the ladder and onto the roof.

Personally, considering he’d never actually built anything before, he thought he’d done a good job of building the temple. A single long wooden room, he’d done his best to match it to the images of other temples. The townspeople had been wary of him, and he’d been heartbroken to see how little remained. Fandral had made a point to just buy what he needed, and then leave them be to recover. 

His garden was coming along well, he’d learned how to trap and hunt the rabbits and deer, and if he never had to eat another tin of tuna again he’d die a happy man.

Fandral paused, and looked down at the northern side of his garden. 

The blueberries were beginning to ripen, out of season and all.

He grinned and got back to work.

* * *

“You look like shit.” 

Sleipnir glared up at his younger brother from where he was buried under a mound of blankets, nose eyes and eyes a little glazed. “You _smell_ like shit.” 

Fen snorted and handed his older brother another tissue, which earned him a quiet thank you before Slip blew his nose loudly. 

Winter wasn’t due for a few weeks, but the cold had come early, and with it, _colds._ Half the palace had the sniffles, and Sleipnir, who had admirably waded through both Hel and Jor’s respective colds when they were sick, had finally caught it himself. 

The door opened and Hel came bouncing in, her arms wrapped around a massive bowl that was steaming faintly. 

“Is that soup?” Sleipnir wasn’t sure he could eat another bite of soup. He was so tired of _broth._

“Nope! Missus Kanil made homemade applesauce. She says you like it hot and it just came off the fire.”

He moaned appreciatively, sitting up in bed. “Oh, Hel, that sounds amazing.” 

She grinned at him and stood on her tiptoes to slide the bowl onto the table. Fen caught it and helped before she dumped steaming applesauce all over herself. 

“Hey, watch this.” Hel raised her hands and wiggled her fingers. There was a puff of dark purple magic, and three spoons appeared in her hand. “Neat, huh? Missus Kanil’s assistant said that’s how the maids carry all the serving stuff. She’s gonna teach me how to balance a plate on my head.”

* * *

Fandral wiped his dripping nose on his sleeve and lamented, again, the loss of his robe and the thick winter cloak Loki had left him. 

He’d tried to dig out the temple and had given it up after a day or so. 

But he had his thermals on, the temple had insulation in the walls and roof, and he was doing his best to make sure his fire didn’t go out. 

Nine months of solid work, from sunup to sundown, but his temple was complete. 

Fandral set the last bowl out on the altar, a beautiful thing he’d built himself with tiered shelves and grooves to hold his trinkets. He set the goblet of blood and honey down, the little bowl of dried blueberries beside it and the handcrafted lute he had bought in a tiny store in Tokyo of all places. 

He took a deep breath and then whispered, very quietly, “Praise and Hail be to you, Loki, my beloved God from this, your most…” he sighed, and then coughed, a horrible wet sounding hacking that left his head spinning. 

He cleared his throat. “Loki. I’m here. And I’m sorry. You’re still my God, and, until you come down here and say otherwise, I’m _yours_ , until the last breath I draw.”

* * *

“It’s all going according to plan.” 

The soft shoes didn’t make a sound against the flagstones of the palace floor and the shadows were the perfect distance apart to hide a small, more shadowy shadow. 

“Jormungandr took the bait, and the God of Thunder has been detained for the foreseeable future. In the bath. With the rubber duck.”

The guards didn’t suspect a thing as she moved by them. Her ferocious karate moves - the best the palace had ever seen - made their eyes burn with fear. They didn’t dare follow her into parts unknown. 

“The All-Father and All-Mother are buried up to their ears in the most dastardly of paperwork. _Taxes_.” Cue her most ferocious fighting stance. 

“Lady Sif is standing guard over Sleipnir, who’s sniffly nose and cough has Fenrisulfr’s full attention.” 

The stable doors opened with a quiet squeak, no louder than the sound of a frightened mouse. She slipped inside with the ease of long practice. She was an old hand at this kind of work. Her experiences had hardened her, left scars and pain on her soul, but her spirit would not be dampened. She would not succumb!

“We won’t succumb to the pull of stillness. We are like the wind. We cannot be caged. We will not be stopped. We are fierce warriors and elusive shadows. And tonight, we ride!” 

She peered over the edge of the door. “Isn’t that right, baby girl?” She made kissy noises at Calluna. “We’re going to have so much fun.” 

A throat cleared behind her and Hel froze. 

“I believe you forgot to distract one of your obstacles, Princess.” 

“Dog poopy.” Hel turned and smiled innocently at the Gatekeeper. “Any chance you didn’t hear a word of that, Mister Heimdall? Sir?” 

The Gatekeeper raised an eyebrow at her and Hel sighed, dropping down off the door and turning to face him. “You don’t understand! I gotta go! Slip said that the lake was all black and icky and there were dead pieces of it. But I can talk to the dead things and make them go back to where they’re supposed to be. Dead things aren’t s’posed to be in a lake, Mister Heimdall! Lakes are for fishing and swimming and playing boats with Jor! And I heard Slip say Mama’s pretty follower was back and I didn’t get to see him ‘cuz I’m small. But he’s mortal and I won’t be big until a long, long time from now, so he’ll be dead and I still won’t know him, so I gotta go. And Missus Kanil made me chocolate covered strawberries and it took me _days_ to figure out how to keep them cold and I could’ve been playing with Calluna instead of _studying_ , and all of that hard work really deserves some reward, because the Library smells gross and Lord FalseTeeth makes fun of my face and I don’t kick him in the shins even though he deserves it. A lot. And Mama’s sleeping from Eir’s tea so he won’t miss me and if I don’t go tonight I’ll never _get to!”_

She finally stopped, breathing heavily and staring at the massive man who guarded the BiFrost. He really was humongous. Like a giant. Or a tree. 

He was even huge when he crouched down to look at her better. 

“Calluna is not steady enough to carry you safely, even along Yggdrasil. You could be hurt, and your mother would never forgive himself, or his follower.” 

Hel’s shoulders drooped. 

“May I see your strawberries?” 

“I guess.” Hel pulled her little pouch from where it was hooked on the belt Uncle Thor got her for Yule. It was meant to be a money pouch, but she liked it better when it was filled with strawberries. 

She opened it and showed the collection of chocolate covered fruits. Heimdall reached in and plucked one out, and gave her a secretive smile. “Now.” He held out his other hand. “If you fetch that big wolf fur cloak your mother keeps in his closet without waking him, I’ll take you to Midgard via the BiFrost.” He pressed a finger to his lips. “Our secret.”

* * *

A brilliant flashing of lights and the smell of burnt grass woke Fandral from his sleep. He rubbed at his eyes and stumbled blearily from his bed. He’d built it into the wall of the temple this time almost like a little cabin, and though he usually pulled the curtains closed, he’d left them open tonight. 

He sniffed, and blew his nose as he tugged on his heavy and thick robe that he’d ordered in through a mail service to the little town, and sighed softly at the sight of Loki’s sigil once again on his back. 

Fandral opened the door and blinked. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head, but… 

“You- you’re Hel,” he said raspily. “Oh sweetheart, you shouldn’t be out here it’s too cold.” He sniffled again and looked up at the enormous man with her. “Heimdallr,” he croaked out. “Please, come in.” 

“I can feel it in my bones!” Hel said, and wiggled her skeletal hand. She darted past Fandral, laughing. “Oh, this is pretty! Ooh, blood.” 

Heimdall shook his head slightly and looked down at Fandral. He held out the thick wolf fur cloak that Loki rarely had cause to wear. “If you have a kettle, our healer sent some tea that should clear up that chest infection.”

The tea was surprisingly nice for something that was supposed to make him feel better. Fandral sipped at it slowly, Heimdall sitting in the crooked chair he’d tried to build and Hel was flitting from one thing to another. 

“So,” he stopped to clear the phlegm from his throat again and smiled at them. “Are you here to tell me to leave Loki alone?”

“No!” Hel skipped back to where Fandral was sitting and climbed into his lap. “Mama’s gonna be so happy you’re back.” 

Heimdallr smiled gently. “Hel wanted to meet you, so she tried to sneak out of the palace on her own.” 

The girl buried her face against Fandral’s shirt. “I forgot Heimdall can even see super spies. I had everything else planned.” 

“Yes. I particularly like the part where you gave your baby brother a bowl of mud and worms so your uncle had to bathe him.” 

Hel covered her mouth as she snickered loudly. “Jor likes worms! He eats them.” She grinned up at Fandral. “Slip said you’re pretty and nice and I wanted to meet you. And there’s dead spots in the lake-“

“Sea,” Heimdallr corrected quietly. 

“-and I’m gonna make them go away.” She rested her head against Fandral’s chest. “But we can wait until morning. You should sleep after you drink your tea, ‘cause you sound like Slip does. I already had the winter cold so I’m intoxicated.” 

Heimdallr made a strangled wheezing sound. “Inoculated,” he said, clearing his throat. “You’re inoculated.” 

“Yeah, that.” She looked at Fandral. “You sound icky.”

Fandral let his fingers drift to brush through Hel’s hair and smiled down at her. “I think you may just be the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said quietly. “You’re so much more beautiful than any book describes you, little doll. And far more devious.”

He turned his head to cough again, and grinned tiredly at Heimdall. “Sleep sounds good actually ,” he admitted softly. “Little Hel, of course will have my bed. I can sleep on the floor. Will you be alright on the floor too, Heimdall, sir?”

Hel gasped loudly and stood up, hands on her hips. “You’re not sleepin’ on the floor! You’re sick! You need blankets and cuddles!” 

Heimdallr chuckled. “The princess has spoken.” He smiled at Fandral. “I should not be away from the Observatory long in case I am needed, if you don’t mind Hel staying with you.” 

Hel stared up at Fandral with big pleading eyes. “Please can I stay? I promise to be good!”

Fandral stared at Hel in awe. 

“You are so beautiful aren’t you,” he murmured, “inside and out. Of course you can stay.” He cupped her skeletal cheek in his hand and smiled. “I haven’t had someone to cuddle at night in years, so you might have to help me remember how.” 

“Practice helps,” she said sagely and patted his cheek. “Drink your tea or Missus Eir will come yell at you for being sick.” 

Heimdallr stood up and gave Fandral a polite bow. “It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Priest Fandral. I look forward to your eventual reunion with Loki.”

He turned to Hel. “Munin is outside. You behave yourself or your grandfather will have to come and get you.” 

“I am the picture of best behavior, Mister Heimdall!” She tucked her hands behind her back and crossed her fingers. “Didn’t you know?”

“I see you,” he said, amused. He looked at Fandral. “If you need me, you need only to call.” He let himself out of the temple, closing the door tightly behind him. A few moments later, the BiFrost activated as he returned to Asgard. 

Hel giggled and skipped around the room. Her first time on Midgard and she got to stay over! “I like your temple. It’s pretty. I was sad when Mama destroyed the other one.”

* * *

Thor sat in silence at Loki’s bedside. Even with Eir’s medicines he was fighting sleep. 

He touched a hand to Loki’s, and sighed when his skin twinged at the contact and Loki’s eyes opened slowly. 

“He’s praying again,” Helblindi said softly and Thor nodded. 

“I want so badly to hate him,” he admitted quietly as Loki struggled to stay awake, the magic of Eir’s medicines flickering in his eyes, “but all I can think is that mother would be so disappointed in me if I did.”

The lecture she’d given him when she had received word that it had done nothing but rain a freezing sleet over Fandral’s head for two months straight had been legendary. 

Thor tipped his head back and accepted Blindi’s kisses, before he sighed and closed his eyes. “I’m tired of seeing him hurting.”

“Shouldn’t,” Loki mumbled, his eyes slipping closed again. “Not a good... god. Shouldn’t...” 

Eir glared from where she stood at the end of the bed, her arms crossed over her chest. “This is getting out of hand. I can’t keep him doped up on sleeping potions. They’re addictive. He needs to start sleeping on his own and _not_ trying to rip his own godhood out.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I’m honestly surprised he can still receive prayers. He’s not listed as the God of Mischief anymore. The tapestries don’t register a title. Just a name. And Idunn isn’t talking.” 

Idunn hadn’t been seen in months. She’d holed herself up in her orchard and refused to come out, even when Odin commanded it. _Something_ was going on, but Eir didn’t know what, and she was getting sick of it. “This has to stop.” 

* * *

Hel waited until Fandral finished his tea before pushing him toward the bed. He hadn’t even put the cup down and she was bullying him under the covers. 

“Missus Eir’s potions work while you’re sleeping. Lots of sleep means lots of healing, and then you’ll be all better.” She snuggled in close to him. “Do you remember how to cuddle yet?”

Fandral nodded and scooped Hel up into his arms and held her close, tucking the blankets in around them. She put her little head on his chest, and Fandral had to bite the inside of his cheek so he wouldn’t cry. 

“Did you know… I almost had a daughter once,” he said quietly. “A wee girl with dark hair and blue eyes. Her name was Amaira.” He sighed and buried his nose in her hair. 

She smelt just like - like _Loki._

“Your mama is very lucky to have a daughter like you, Hel.”

“She’s pretty,” Hel said, fisting her hand in his shirt. “Mama told us about her and Slip checks on her every couple months. Her foster family loves her very much and she has a big brother now. His name is Lucas. Slip thinks they might adopt them both. They’re nice.” 

She patted his chest. “I think you would’ve made a good daddy. I hope you get to be somebody’s some day.”

* * *

Thor stood and stared down at Loki. 

“I’m going to drag that mortal here,” he said firmly. “And he’s not leaving until this is fixed!”

Eir sighed. “You know you can’t. Midgardian mortals can’t come to Asgard. And if you force the two of them together, your brother is just going to dig in his heels or run. Fandral is praying now. That’s a start. The trick is going to be getting your brother to _listen.”_

* * *

Fandral closed his eyes. 

Amaira was gone for him. 

“Thank you, sweet girl. He doesn’t have to check on her anymore,” he murmured. “She’s happy and safe and loved.”

Fandral kept his eyes closed and when Hel’s breathing settled and slowed into sleep, he let himself grieve the fact that she was out of his reach now. 

There’d always been a tiny part of him that had selfishly hoped that somehow, he’d get to be her daddy. To hold her again. But it’d been years now since he’d seen her. She wouldn’t remember him, and he was being ridiculous.

Being a father was never going to happen for him, at least not in this life. 

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. He didn’t even know who he was apologising to any more. “Loki. Thor. Helblindi. Sif. Sleipnir… I’m _sorry_. I - I fucked up. Ruined it… ruin - ruined…” Fandral yawned and tried to open his eyes again but they refused to cooperate. 

“Loki? I’m _sorry._ My God. M-my God.”

Hel woke after the sun was already up. She was wrapped tightly in blankets and tucked up under Fandral’s chin. It was lovely and warm, and hugs were nice. 

Mama hadn’t given many hugs in the last year. Uncle Thor and Uncle Helblindi and Aunt Sif all gave hugs, and of course, Amma and Afi gave the best of all. But she loved her Mama’s hugs, but Mama hadn’t done much at all since Fandral stopped worshipping him. 

Jor didn’t understand. He cried a lot. But Hel thought maybe she understood, because Amma had tried to explain it wasn’t about the worship, not really. Her Mama and Fandral had souls that fit together, like puzzle pieces, and they _wanted_ to be together. But then Fandral went away and Loki didn’t have any connection to him at all - not even the worship. Fandral still had the necklace that Mama had given him, and maybe other stuff - she wasn’t sure. But Mama didn’t have anything and he was sick. He’d had his heart broken and then his soul got hurt, and he didn’t have enough unbroken pieces to keep himself together _and_ be their Mama. Not until he got better. 

But Hel knew he would get better. She wasn’t sure _how_ she knew, except Fandral was nice and he was back, and there was a really very pretty altar here all for her Mama. And maybe, if she asked real nicely, Fandral would give her something to take to her Mama, to make him better. 

She wiggled her way carefully out of the bed, sliding out from under the covers and making sure she didn’t wake Fandral. She found the bathroom with little trouble, peed and washed her hands, and then moved over to the fireplace. 

He had wood all stacked up inside, so it was easy to lift a piece with her seidr, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she guided it into the hearth. Then she started pulling stuff out of her pockets. Missus Kanil was the perfect co-conspirator because she loved feeding people, and she’d made little sandwiches for her and Fandral with eggs and sausage, on bread made with veggies baked in! And then she’d helped Hel enchant her pockets to hold lots of stuff, the same way that Hel’s coin purse could hold so many strawberries. 

Of course, she might have told the cook she was only having a picnic on the balcony and not running away to Midgard. 

There was a flat pan that balanced over the fire and she set the sandwiches on it so they’d get all warm and toasty, and then moved over to the altar. She pressed a kiss to the wood with a smile. “Morning, Mama. I’m gonna take care of both you and Fandral. Don’t worry. We’ll make it all better. You’ll see.”

Fandral woke slowly and groggily, confused as to why he could smell food. 

And then he remembered. Hel. Heimdall. Cuddles and tea and - 

“Hel!” Fandral shouted and rolled out of his bed and onto his feet, eyes wild and hair sticking out all over his head. “Hel! Sweetheart, where - Huh?”

Hel was sitting by the altar, fingers plucking at the strings of the lute as she hummed. Fandral moved to sit beside her and smiled at her when she grinned toothily at him. 

“Would you like me to show you how I say good morning to your mama, little love?”

“Yes, please!” She tucked her fingers under her thighs so she wasn’t interfering with the altar and grinned at him. “And then we can eat breakfast!”

Fandral snorted in amusement and took her hands out from under her legs. “You won’t wreck it by touching it,” he said softly. “I always take the time and say good morning. Though I was a bit stupid and didn’t for some time. So now… I say it a little differently.” 

He reached up for his silver dagger and set it in his lap, a firm “Do _not_ touch” given to Hel as he gathered his goblet, the jar of honey he’d collected himself and a small piece of green silk. 

“Usually I would clean this outside,” he said quietly as he emptied the goblet and cleaned it with a rag, “but it tends to hail on my head at random moments, and I’m in no mood for a headache today.” 

He set the goblet back on the altar and quickly unsheathed the blade. He cut swift and deeply into his palm and held it over the goblet. 

The _other_ parts of his ritual he would leave out for today. 

“Blessed is this humble devotee as he kneels before you, Loki,” he said gently. “Praise and Hail be to you, my Beloved God of Chaos and Tricks, Lies and Truths both. He who wields daggers and words as one, and saw fit to bless this one with your physical presence.” 

Fandral sighed and swirled his non-bloody finger in the honey jar and then through the blood, carefully mixing them before he drew back his sleeve and painted Loki’s snake sigil onto his forearm. 

“Always will I carry you with me,” he murmured. “Never am I alone, because your strength and fire are always with me, Loki.” 

His cock gave a traitorous twitch but he took a deep breath and skipped the next part. 

“If you cannot now,” he opened his eyes and sighed softly. “Then I will ask you every day until my soul comes to you for release, to forgive me the wrongs I did you, Loki, Vinur minn.”

He pressed his lips to his bloody palm, and then to the wood of the altar and stayed there a moment, trying to simply _feel_ Loki. 

But there was nothing now, where before he’d always felt _something._

“Maybe next time,” he muttered and sat back, binding his palm with the silk. 

“So,” he wiped the tears off his cheeks and grinned at Hel. “Breakfast, little Majesty?”

Hel slipped from her seat and climbed into Fandral’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight hug. “Mama shouldn’t have lied. Even Slip said he shouldn’t have gone along with it. You did some mean things, but you were hurt, and sometimes we bite when we’re hurting.” 

She pressed a kiss to his cheek and leaned back. “Mama won’t answer right now. Missus Eir has him drugged so he’ll sleep. But you don’t have to be scared about hail anymore. When Amma - that means Grandma - found out what Uncle Thor was doing, she yelled _so loud,_ I heard her in the stables.”

Fandral’s laugh was muffled and wet, but he mumbled something he hoped was polite into Hel’s warm skin. 

Fuck but it felt good to touch another person again. 

He sighed and stood up, gripping Hel tightly to him as she gasped in surprise. “I’m not a God, but I can lift a precious treasure like you.” He bopped her lightly on the nose and smiled. 

“Maybe you could take your mama a gift from me when you go home? Even if - if he just throws it away, just to let him know I’m not giving up?”

He ran his hand over the silk on his cut palm and unwound it carefully as he set Hel down on the table top. A quick rummage around in the chest at the foot of his bed and he wrapped it up in a piece of waxed paper. 

“Everything I’ve read says blood is the strongest thing for a worshipper to give,” he said softly and pressed it into her hands. “Will you give that to your mama? Blood and soul, Hel.”

Hel clutched the precious little gift in her hands. She didn’t even have to ask! 

“Mama will love it,” she whispered. “He really, really will. He misses you a lot.” 

She tucked the cloth in its wrapping into one of her pockets and then pointed at the pan on the fire. “I brought sausage and egg sandwiches. I like your kitchen. It’s nice.”

Fandral smiled at Hel and moved over to take the food from the fire. He set out his plates, gave her a mug filled with strawberry milk (because this time he kept a small generator powered refrigerator in the back of the temple) and sat down beside her to eat. 

“This might just be the best breakfast I’ve ever eaten,” he said in wonder. “I’m very jealous that you get to eat this well every day.”

Hel just grinned at him and demolished her sandwich, Fandral eating at a more adult pace. He helped her to wash her hands and face, wrapped her in the wolf fur cloak Heimdall had brought and led her outside. Hel’s arguments that she didn’t need the cloak were ignored and he tucked his hands inside his Priests robe.

“So… you’re gonna save the lake?”

“Yeah! Slip said there were dead spots, but I can talk to dead things. They’re not bad. Sometimes they just get lost and come up in the wrong places. Sometimes I talk to the plants in Amma’s garden when they’re looking a little wilty and make the deadness go away. And Mama says I’m an Earth elemental, so talking to plants and ghosts is easy.” 

She made her way out over to the edge of the lake, him following right behind her. She tramped right up to the edge of the water and peered in. 

“Hi!” She waved a hand at the water. “I’m gonna fix you up but I can’t swim, so I need a little help getting to the dark patches. You think you can help me?” 

Nothing happened for a long moment, but then the water began to shift, waves lapping more roughly as something moved beneath the surface. Hel watched, leaning forward curiously. She jumped up and down excitedly when the first bones floated to the surface. 

“Oh wow! Look at you! You’re so pretty!” She turned to Fandral and pointed. “Look! Look! Isn’t she pretty? She’s a whale!” 

It wasn’t a complete skeleton. Some of the rib bones had been lost, along with one of the fins, but the long backbone stretched easily across the water from the shore to the first black spot. 

“Such a beautiful girl,” Hel said reverently. She slipped the cloak from her shoulders and held it out for Fandral. “It’s too long. Hold it for me?” She gave him a grin. “Watch me save the world!” She turned and dashed across the spine of the whale with a shriek of delight, laughing as she reached the end. 

“You’re such a wonderful bridge,” she told the bones, as she laid down on her belly and stared at the black water. “Hi! What are you doing here, huh? Death isn’t s’posed to hang out in lakes. Are you lost?”

Fandral could do nothing except just stand and watch as Hel flittered from one skeleton to the next, coaxing the darkness and death in the earth that shouldn’t be there to simply… go. 

All in all, it took her maybe an hour. He had his hand held out for her to take as she stepped back daintily onto the shore, when the sound of rumbling behind them and the bright flashing rainbow lights of the Bifrost made him wince. 

“I think your time is up, baby doll,” he said quietly as a loud voice bellowed, “HEL! Hel, you get over here right now!” 

Fandral turned slowly and swallowed hard at the sight of Sleipnir stomping over to them. He gave her hand a little squeeze and put his hands up in a gesture of peace. 

“Uh-oh,” Hel murmured, tucking her hands behind her back. She peered up at her brother innocently. “Hi, Slip! You sound loads better!” 

“Oh, I do, do I? Probably ‘cuz Uncle Thor woke the whole fucking palace when he found you gone this morning. He scared the damn flu off of Asgard.” He stomped over to a stop in front of her and crouched down. “We thought you’d be kidnapped.” 

Hel pointed at a nearby tree where a raven had been sitting since they walked down to the lake. “Munin’s been here since last night. I’m okay, Slip! I just had to fix the lake.” 

Sleipnir grabbed her arms in a hard grip, making her whine. “You scared the shit out of me,” he hissed, tugging her into a hug. 

“M’sorry!” Hel sniffled against him. “I just wanted to help.” 

Sleipnir pressed his face against her hair, blinking away tears. Fen had torn into the guards about not noticing the princess leaving the palace and being sure that Tyr worked them until they dropped. And Heimdallr was in a lot of trouble from Thor for not saying anything to anyone about Hel being on Midgard. 

“Don’t do it again,” he whispered. “I can’t scry like Mother can. I don’t know if I could have gotten him to focus long enough to find you if Afi hadn’t told us where you were.”

Hel nodded and clutched at his shirt. “I’m sorry. I was okay, though. Mister Fandral was here and everything.”

Fandral shuffled his feet and nodded. “I’m sorry, Sleipnir,” he said quietly. “Heimdall and Hel are quite the persuasive pair. I, uh, I know you don’t trust me at all, but I promise she was warm and safe. I just -” he gestured at the lake. “I just couldn’t follow her out there.” 

He dropped his hands and tucked them back into his sleeves and stepped back from the pair. Fandral tipped his head respectfully and sighed quietly. “I’ll let you get her home. It was wonderful to meet you, baby doll.”

Sleipnir sighed. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Fandral.” He cupped Hel’s chin and gave her a stern look. “We are going home so you can reassure Uncle Thor you’re all right.” He nudged her gently toward Fandral. “I know you brought him a gift. Go give it to him and say goodbye.” 

Hel ran over to Fandral and lifted up her arms. “Can I have a hug?”

Fandral nodded silently and picked her up easily. She was warm, soft even where he logically knew she shouldn’t be and he knew it was going to break his heart to say goodbye. 

He had a funny feeling he wouldn’t see her again.

Fandral pressed a kiss to her skeletal cheek and set her down gently, nodding in apology to Sleipnir as he did. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “That wasn’t my intention, Sleipnir.” Fandral looked back down at Hel and smiled that stupid crooked smile he hated. 

“You have a gift for me, sweetheart?”

She nodded and unhooked the pouch from her belt and handed it to him. “I need the pouch back.” She grinned at him. “So I _have_ to come see you again. But I know you’ll keep it safe until I do.” 

She tugged on his shirt until he leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Love you,” she whispered, and dashed back over to Sleipnir, taking his hand. She waved at Fandral. “See you later!” 

Sleipnir nodded at Fandral and hugged Hel close. The BiFrost came down around them and took them back to Asgard.

* * *

Fandral celebrated his twenty-sixth birthday the same as he’d celebrated them all his life. 

Alone, but content. 

It’d been two years since Sleipnir and Hel had left, and he hadn’t heard from Asgard again. The chocolate covered strawberries in the pouch had been a wonderful surprise for him, and he kept Hel’s little pouch full of berries or sweets at all times on his altar. 

Just in case. 

He sat silently in front of the fireplace, the only sounds the thunderstorm shaking the ground outside and the crackling of his fire. Fandral didn’t speak much anymore. He found the sound of his own voice somewhat grating. 

All his prayers and rituals were whispered, sincerely and fervently, but never louder than a whisper. Everyday he painted Loki’s sigil with honey and blood, he apologised to Loki with sincerity and honesty, though he’d long since given up on being forgiven. 

Fandral stood slowly at the end of his prayers and bound his hand with green cloth, moving then to wash in the lake. The refrigerator and the generator had both died during the last winter storms, so he’d taken it into what was left of the town and thrown it away. 

He didn’t have much need for it anymore, his garden thriving and his greenhouses kept him fed through the winter. 

And all year round, his blueberries were there. 

Just in case. 

* * *

Loki watched Hel closely as she rode around the pasture on Calluna. She had promised that she wouldn’t try to make the growing horse fly, that she would wait until they thought she was ready, but Hel was as spirited as any wild horse, and as impulsive as Thor had once been. 

Calluna had reached her full size in the three years since she had been gifted to Hel. She was a lovely shade of pale pink, just like the flower than had inspired her name, but her plain white mane had grown as she had, and under the light of Asgard’s sun, it glittered as though woven through with diamonds. Those gorgeous white wings, each nine feet across, were pinned loosely to the horse’s sides, but Loki could see the strength in them. 

They wouldn’t be able to keep her on the ground forever. The same went for Hel. Not as fast as her powers were growing. 

He felt more than heard Thor come up behind him. His brother’s presence sparked and hummed like a storm and Loki embraced the relief his presence always offered. He hadn’t asked yet, now that Helblindi and Thor were open and official about their relationship, where it would take them. Both of them were Crown Princes of their respective realms, and it was not unlikely that Thor would move to Jotunheim when they married, and the throne of Asgard would fall to him. 

The idea made him sick, and he couldn’t bear to ask the question. He never remained in the room when conversations about their relationship started, but people had begun to get used to his wandering. 

Things had gotten better, but they weren’t the way they used to be. He slept fitfully, though better than he had been, and he often found himself wandering the halls at night, trying to find this lost ability to rest. Or his mind wandered. 

The one thing he was able to focus on, and he thanked the Norns and Yggdrasil for it, was his children. No matter what, they could hold his attention. After more than a year of not being there for them, caught up in his own bullshit, he refused to let any of them think he was less than completely riveted by them. 

He’d been a terrible god and a terrible trickster, but damn if he would continue to be a terrible mother. 

“She learns fast,” he said softly, watching Hel direct Calluna with her heels to turn and change pace. “Flying soon.”

Thor slipped his hand into Loki’s. “She will be soaring before you know it,” he agreed gently. “Loki. I need you to listen to me, little brother. Helblindi has declared us to be mates.” He rubbed his thumb along Loki’s knuckles and made a soft soothing sound when Loki tensed. 

“Blindi has forfeited the throne of Jotunheim. Byleistr is to take it, he and his wife and sons will be proud and strong rulers. Blindi and I will rule Asgard.” 

He sighed as the ever familiar echo of Fandral’s voice in his mind sounded, the whispered apologies to himself and his beloved, to Loki’s children and on and on. 

“Will you see him?” 

Thor himself had gone down a few months earlier, cloaked and hidden with his mother’s help. The mortal was aging, nearing his thirtieth year now, and though Thor had lingered for days, he’d never heard a sound louder than a whisper from him. And only at prayer time. 

Fandral prayed three times a day now. With blood in the morning, wine and fruit at noon, and seed and tears at night. 

Loki choked out a sob and turned, burying his face in Thor’s chest. His tears were sudden and loud, as he clutched at Thor, and he heard Calluna’s hooves stutter as Hel pulled her to a stop. 

“Mama?” 

Loki tried to think about the question, but his mind wouldn’t focus on it. Thor wasn’t leaving him? He wasn’t?

Thor held his brother close and let the mortal go. 

“I’m not going to leave you, Lo,” he murmured. “I’m right here.”

* * *

Fandral celebrated his thirty-fifth birthday the same as he had all his life. 

Alone. 

But now he spent it in silence, sitting at the lakeside and sketching the landscape. 

And beside him was a bowl of blueberries.

Just in case.

* * *

Loki clutched at the small green cloth Hel had given him one night seven years ago and told himself he would _not_ cry. 

Not until Hel was out of eyesight, anyway. 

His daughter was amazing and beautiful and so, so powerful. Too powerful to keep going without proper training, and there was no one on Asgard with the skills of handling the dead. 

“I’ll take good care of her, Loki. You have my word.” Freyja touched his cheek gently. The Queen of the Valkyrie was the guardian of Folkvangr, one of the realms of the dead. She was powerful and kind, and she would train her well. 

“You’ll come visit, right?” Hel asked, leaving Calluna’s side to rush back to him. Hugs. He would miss the hugs. “Every Full Moon? You promised!” 

“Every Full Moon,” Loki whispered. “I promise.” He ran his fingers through her hair, tracing patterns over the skeletal side of her face. “My beautiful girl. Be good for your Aunt Freyja.” 

“I will!” She hugged him tight and kissed his cheek, and then she was running back to her winged horse. Too excited to realize how devastating this was. Too young to realize what growing up meant. 

“Do you have whales on Vanaheim?” 

Loki curled his fingers in the green cloth and thought about a trip to Vanaheim he had taken years ago. But the memory hurt and he turned away from it. He had learned his lesson. Gods didn’t visit mortals. 

Still, his skin burned with the magic of prayers. Sometimes he found himself answering them with little brushes of his seidr. Sending magic to Midgard in the form of the aurora in the sky, or stars shooting across the night, or snow, when Thor obliged his eccentricities. A drop of his brother’s seidr and a spell, and snow that smelled of apples and cinnamon. 

A different time. A different life. 

Still, every Summer Solstice he found his seidr wrapping tight around the magic of those prayers, whispering back his own wishes. A god of nothing at all pushing blessings on a mortal for a year that was bright. He wanted that for his follower. Bright, beautiful days and a good life. 

He dare not ask for more.

* * *

The tip of his pencil snapped against the thick and uneven paper he was drawing on, and Fandral sighed. 

That was his last one. 

Back to charcoal then. He got carefully to his feet, mindful of the twinges in his knees now, and moved back inside his temple. The sky was darkening steadily, and he sighed as the first few drops of rain fell gently, before the heavens cracked open and it pelted down. Divots and puddles formed quickly in the ground, though the mark where the Bifrost had touched down all those years ago was still as clear as it had been then. 

Fandral rubbed at his beard, and groaned silently to himself when he realised he’d lost one of the heavy pewter beads that kept his braids in place. 

He paused in front of his only mirror and smiled a little. 

Not bad for forty-three. 

Fandral brushed a hand over his altar gently, and straightened the little pouch there, still filled with hard candies he’d made himself from dried blueberries and honey. 

Just in case. 

* * *

Loki sat in the middle of Thor’s bed and rubbed the cloth between his thumb and forefinger. Green, a little worn now, but somehow still smelling of sandalwood and blood. 

He didn’t look up when Thor and Helblindi entered the room, their voices going quiet, but he did let go of the cloth. It stayed tucked under his sleeve, tied around his arm where he always wore it. His follower’s mark. His little piece of a bond that would one day stretch into nothing. 

For the best, probably. 

“Slip got invited to Svartalfheim. Their palace healer is getting old. Needs someone there to help.” He was a fully fledged Master in healing. Didn’t make sense for him to work under Eir forever. He blinked hard and looked at his brothers. “They’re all growing up, aren’t they?”

Thor glanced at his husband and bit his lip. “Loki,” he said softly. “Brother. Perhaps you ought to go visit Fandral, hm? He is aging, and his prayers are beginning to quiet.”

Blindi stepped forward and sat down beside Loki. “I know you still hurt. But everyday, morning and noon and night, he still prays to you. Still apologises to us _all._ If you want, we could go?”

* * *

The day Fandral turned fifty, he barely noticed it was his birthday at all. He simply stood and stared in silence at his altar. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken out loud. 

But his nightly prayers had begun to change just a little. 

_“This most devoted one can no longer offer you his seed of life every night, beloved Loki,”_ he prayed silently. _“So, instead I offer a piece of myself.”_

Fandral set the tiny blade down with the even tinier piece of his flesh still clinging to it and bowed his head to begin his prayers. 

* * *

Loki’s fingers slipped under his shirt sleeve and caught the edge of the green cloth. He knew the shape of it by touch now. He could trace its pattern without looking, could press his finger where the blood still stained the fabric without fault. 

It still smelled of something missing. It still felt like the memory of a warm hand in his. It still made him think of maple candies and honey, and all the sugary things he hadn’t touched since his trickster magic left him years before. 

“Gods don’t visit mortals,” he whispered quietly. “It only hurts them.” 

His fingers slipped from the cloth and he pressed his hands together. “And gods of nothing have nothing to give their followers.” Not even when they want to give them everything.

* * *

The winter of Fandral’s forty-fourth year in the temple was also the worst winter on record in centuries. 

He was sixty-eight years old, and he knew, in the strange way that most elderly people do, that this would be his last. The yearly flu was worse than ever, but he’d still managed to make all his prayers at the altar. 

All but this one. 

His very last. 

“Praise and … Hail be to you, my beloved Loki,” he murmured, his voice rusty with over forty years of disuse and the pneumonia that was burning in his bones. “Always have I… begged forgiveness… and now… my soul begs only… for release.” 

He blinked tiredly at the temple, watched as his last candle spluttered and went out, and closed his eyes. 

* * *

Thor had once told Loki that Fandral’s prayers were quieting, as the years stretched on. But for Loki, they had never been quiet. 

It didn’t matter if they were spoken strongly, whispered, or only thought, he heard every word his only follower directed toward him. He felt every prayer burning under his skin and in his lungs and deep into his bones. 

There hadn’t been silence in forty-five years, save for that one year that rang louder than them all. 

Loki didn’t know what he would do with silence. There was no place for it in his world. 

The last whispers of his single follower’s words echoed in his ears as Loki walked the branches of Yggdrasil along a path he hadn’t traveled since one discussion broke two souls apart. Irreparably, he supposed. 

Was it unfair that the thing that finally got him to visit the temple of the only Priest of Loki was that the man was leaving it? It seemed unkind. 

Loki was that, he had learned. Unkind. Cruel, perhaps. 

Not the God of Cruelty, of course. He was god of nothing. 

And of no one, soon. 

Norway was cold. The air was brutal and it’s bite had his skin flushing blue before he’d even realized. Loki staggered under the sudden weight of horns. He hadn’t taken this form since...

Since he was Vinur. 

Another life. Another creature dead and gone. 

Loki paused outside of the temple. He had not dared to visit at all, nor to scry it. The temptation to come would have broken him. His curiosity would have destroyed his reticence. 

Too late now to regret his had-nots. 

It was beautiful. Well-crafted and made in a traditional style he hadn’t seen in centuries. The door moved on well-oiled hinges, but it opened to a cold interior. 

Cold and dark. 

Fire flared in the hearth and in the candles at a gesture, the flickering light sending shadows dancing around a large room filled with aged sketches and drying herbs. A large, beautifully carved altar held precious gifts and offerings, and Loki trailed his fingers over them. 

But he was not here for things. He had never come for _things._

The man in the bed was old. Aged more by his life than his years. Loki could see that in the lines that deepened his face, and the hair that had once been like golden wheat now a fading grey. 

He sat down on the edge of the bed, lifting a heavy, gnarled hand in his. So different from the hands he had once held so long ago on a Summer Solstice that was still the best he’d ever had. 

“My loyal priest,” he murmured, touching his fingers to Fandral’s temple and tracing the line of his white beard. “My priest. I am here.”

* * *

Thor let his head fall to rest on Blindi’s shoulder and sighed. “He’s gone,” he whispered. “So many years now it’s been getting quieter… but he’s gone.”

Blindi nodded, and Thor felt the icy drips of tears in his hair. “Loki’s gone too,” he murmured. “Gone to say goodbye, at last.”

* * *

Loki leaned over Fandral and rested their foreheads together. The air was still between them and Loki felt the first tears prick at his eyes and slide hot down his cheeks. 

“You are the first follower I have ever had. My first and only Priest. I didn’t know what I was doing as a patron god, and still you prayed to me. I hope you can forgive me, still not knowing what I’m doing now.” 

He cupped the calloused, heavy hand in both of his. “Fandral Smith, Priest of Loki, a human who met his god and still thought him worth worshipping... go with my gratitude into whatever peace awaits you. Folkvangr.” He swallowed painfully. “Or Niflheim, the realm of my daughter’s rule, will greet you happily. Be released into your reward for a life well-lived. Your god thanks you for your service. You will not be forgotten.” He ran his fingers over the scars in the center of Fandral’s palm from a lifetime of worship. “And if it did need saying, my Priest, I forgave you long ago. Be at peace.” 

The wind was warm and gentle, the candles only flickering as it swept through the room. 

But somehow, it seemed... emptier after it was gone. 

Loki folded Fandral’s hands across his chest. He slipped the green fabric he kept around his arm from beneath his sleeve, pressing a kiss to it before slipping it between Fandral’s hands. 

His face was wet when he rose from the bed, but his eyes still clearly took in the drawings. There were so many of them, hanging from the walls and the shelves. Sketches of Thor. Of Helblindi and Sif. Hel and Sleipnir, in human form and horse. Of Yggdrasil. But most especially of Loki. His Winter and his Summer forms, smiling and serious. Some just focused on his hands. Some his eyes. His markings. 

Loki stared around the room at all the evidence of years of worship to a god of nothing, and wondered how it could have been worth it. 

He wished he’d come back forty years ago so he could ask, but now it was too late.

* * *

Fandral opened his eyes and stared up at an oddly cloudy and yet clear sky, dotted here and there with stars and planets, and frowned at it. 

He hadn’t been able to see that clearly in years. 

Sitting up didn’t hurt. His back didn’t scream in protest, the wrist he’d broken a decade before no longer ached when he set his weight on it. Fandral brought his hands up and stared at them in absolute bewilderment. 

His hands hadn’t looked like this since he’d been twenty-three, and traipsing for the first, and last, time through Vanaheim. These hands had been clasped tightly in Loki’s almost all day. 

“What…” Fandral got slowly to his feet and sighed. “I’m obviously dead,” he muttered. “I remember dying. Where am I now though?” He bit his lip and looked around him. 

“Loki? Can you - I mean…” 

He remembered asking to be released. But all his prayers over the years had gone cold and unanswered. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly and sat back down.

Loki had clearly not forgiven him, nor given his soul it’s release. Limbo, then. Or… whatever this was. Fandral sighed and closed his eyes. 

“You apologize a great deal for a man who earned his forgiveness decades ago.” Idunn stepped through the darkness of this place between the betweens, the stars reflecting against the white of her hair and her robes. 

She stopped in front of the young man. Young again now, and young to her as all were. “Hello, Fandral Smith. I have been waiting a long time to meet you.” 

Fandral stared up at the lady and then scrambled to his feet, bowing politely. “Um, hello ma’am,” he said softly, and lifted his head slowly to look at her. “You… you’re Lady Idunn, aren’t you?”

He swayed briefly on the spot and licked his lips. “Did… did Loki really forgive me, milady?”

“Loki forgave you a long time ago. It was himself he was never able to forgive.” 

She smiled at him. “I am Idunn, yes. It is wonderful to finally meet you. You lived a very interesting life, Fandral Smith. If things had gone differently, it might have been less lonely for you and more interesting, but still, not a bad life, was it?”

“It was a good life,” he agreed quietly. “I wouldn’t lie to you and say I was never lonely. I was… used to it in the end though. It felt deserved. Earned, even.” 

He shrugged one shoulder and wrapped his arms around his waist. A glance down and he saw more yet that was different. Gone were the lean muscles a life of hard, physical labour had earned him. His palms had only thin, faint scars from his rituals, not the thick knotted lines he’d grown accustomed to seeing. 

All the little knicks and scars that had littered his hands and fingers, the rough calluses he’d developed building and caring for the temple. Even the bite scar on his bicep from a wolf he’d accidentally startled one day was gone. And that had been a doozy of a scar. 

The wolf had been a young one, a juvenile, basking near his temple almost fifteen years to the day since he’d last seen Hel or Sleipnir. He hadn’t been expecting it, and had simply thrust his hand into the thick patch of clover he’d grown there for Sleipnir (just in case) and been bitten for his trouble. 

He looked up at Idunn in confusion. 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Lady Idunn. Where… where am I? Not that it’s not lovely to meet you, ma’am, but why are you here?” 

Idunn smiled. “As I said, if things had gone differently, it might have been less lonely for you and more interesting, but then you would be waking up in Folkvangr and we would have no need of this conversation. As it is, you have a choice to make.” 

She settled down on the ground and patted the ground beside her, waiting until Fandral took a seat. “A choice?”

Idunn hummed in agreement. “Valhalla is closed to you. Only those who die in battle are welcomed into the hall of warriors. But there is Folkvangr, a land of green fields and peace, ruled over by Queen Freyja. And then there is Niflheim, a land of quiet rest, ruled over by Queen Hel. I believe you know her. Either would grant you a pleasant afterlife, and you may find there some things you did not have in life.”

She gave him a teasing smile. “Or, you may go back to Loki, if you wish. In a different role, of course.”

Fandral picked at his trousers for a moment. “I can… go back to Loki?” He looked at Idunn and she nodded slowly. “In… in a different role. What - what role, Lady Idunn? But what if I go back to him but he doesn’t know me anymore. I don’t even know if he ever heard or felt my prayers and rituals, ma’am. My altar was… cold.”

“Loki heard every word directed toward him,” she said gently. “Spoken or thought, he heard you. He answered sometimes, in the simple beauty of nature - a shooting star, the bright green aurora borealis, or a crisp winter morning somehow smelling of apples.” 

She touched his cheek. “And every Midsummer, he bid you have a good, bright life, as he had that very first Solstice. But he would not go to you. Loki has been adamant these last few decades that mortals should not meet their gods, for they’ll only get hurt.” She nodded. “He is a stupid boy, our Loki. But he means well.” 

She studied him for a moment. “You and Loki shared a bond. A soul bond, between a mortal and a god, is a rare thing. Rarer still to be found, but he called to you and you came, and you called to him.” She pulled a small green cloth from the air and held it out to him - the same that Loki had tucked into the hands of an old man. “And when you gave Hel a gift to give to Loki, you eased a lonely heart who could find peace no other way.” 

She handed him the cloth. “You saved the life of a god, Fandral Smith. That has earned you a gift I do not often get to deliver to a mortal of Midgard.”

Fandral was fairly certain if he moved even a tiny little bit he was going to puke on the Lady Idunn and then he would definitely get his ass kicked down to Niflheim. 

But - but he _recognised_ this. 

“I saved him?” Fandral sighed and shook his head before he looked up at Idunn from under his lashes. He blushed a little as he mumbled to her, “No matter what the role is… I’ll always choose Loki, ma’am. I haven’t ever felt even a fraction of what I felt for him for anyone or anything in my life.”

And it was true. 

Forty-four years he’d spent in the temple he’d built for Loki with his own two hands. Forty-five worshipping him. Forty-six years learning him. 

“Any role.” He turned the worn fabric in his hands and smiled at it. “I’d gladly live a solitary and celibate life again for him.”

“I think you would both be much happier _together,_ don’t you?” She took his hand, turning it palm up, and placed a glowing orb of golden light in his hands. It firmed slowly as he held it, taking on shape, until it was nothing more than a simple apple, if gold of skin and glowing with its own light. 

“I am the guardian of the Golden Apples. I have been since I grew the very first tree and ate the very first apple that granted my immortality. Now, when the trees sprout their apples, they call to me. I read the names of the one who they are meant for and the role they are meant to take, and I find them and offer them this gift.

“You have a choice. You may choose your mortal life and your mortal death. You may decide to go to Folkvangr or to Niflheim - you have earned the right to choose from the life you have led. 

“Or, you may eat this apple and become the God of Loneliness. You will come with me back to Asgard and take your place in the pantheon.” 

She raised a finger. “It is not always an easy life. Gods are granted their roles, and with it comes both power and responsibility. There was once a God of Mischief, and you were the only one who worshipped him. The only one who saw that Mischief had a place. There will be things that you must do as a God of Loneliness, but you will find few pray to the gods of unpleasant things, even though they, too, have their place.”

Fandral stared at the Apple. He turned it over in his hands, poked it and prodded it. He sniffed it and rolled it about in the palms of his hands. 

And he thought.

If he ate it, he could go to Asgard. Join their pantheon. He could stay by Loki’s side and stop feeling like he was missing half himself. 

But what if he got there and they all hated him? Hated him for what he’d done to their son, their mother and brother and God and Prince and - 

Fandral took a deep breath, held it in and then let it go slowly. 

If they hated him… he could handle it. He’d never been liked in his life except for the one day on Vanaheim when he’d thought for a brief moment that he’d had friends. That he might have known what it felt like to be liked. 

But he’d been forgotten quickly and easily too. 

“The last time anyone touched me willingly, more than brushing against my shoulder in passing, was the very last hug Hel gave me before she left.” He glanced over at Idunn and smiled sadly. “But you knew that. What… what does a God of Loneliness do? I don’t know that I could survive eternity untouched, Lady Idunn. Forty-four years was hard enough.”

“There are people in the world who are lonely. For whom loneliness is all they’ve known. For some, you will simply be a god who understands what loneliness is. Sometimes, just knowing there is someone else who feels the same way can help ease a lonely heart. 

“For others, you may guide them to another lonely heart, because two lonely people together can be something else entirely.” Her smile turned sad. “And in others, you may simply be a hand to guide them, because loneliness sometimes permeates life, and sometimes ends it. And you may find yourself guiding a lonely soul to find a home in Niflheim or Folkvangr. 

“But you, my god of loneliness, will _not_ be alone. That I can promise. You will be welcomed on Asgard. There will be an adjustment period - there always is - but you will find a home there, and a family too. If you want that.”

Family.

That word made his breath catch and his eyes prick with tears. “Family.” Even saying out loud himself sounded strange. 

He eyed the Apple for one more moment, and then lifted it to his lips. 

It was sweet, like honey and strawberries and sunshine. Like apples and sugar on a stick, given with a smile and kiss. Like a hand that had fit his like it’d been designed with his in mind. 

He could taste blueberries and hear a lute. 

Fandral swallowed his last mouthful when Idunn nudged the core and leaves to his lips, and then smiled at her. 

“May I see Loki now?”

“One thing first,” Idunn said, amused. 

Hel tore out of nowhere and slammed into him, arms wrapping around his waist and babbling at the top of her lungs. 

“I wasn’t allowed to see you til you made your choice and now you’ve made it and I’m so glad you’re going back to Asgard. I can come visit and I can show you my horse, Calluna. She can fly and she’s pretty and you’ll love her and I love you and I’m so glad you’re staying and I missed you so much.” 

“Hel!” Fandral wheezed. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much, baby doll! Look how big you’ve grown!” 

Fandral let himself collapse down onto knees that didn’t ache and wrapped his arms tightly around the little girl inside of them. “Hi sweetheart,” he murmured. “I’ve missed you. I kept your pouch, just like I promised I would. It always had a treat in it for you.” 

He buried his face in her hair and shuddered hard to not let the sob he could feel in his chest out. 

The first time in forty-four years he’d been touched by another person, and it was tearing him apart in the very best way. 

“Oh baby doll,” he whispered. “I love you.” He couldn’t help the few tears that slipped away from him. “Will you come with me to see your mama? I’m actually kind of afraid,” he confessed quietly. “I could use a strong Queen to hold my hand.”

Hel nodded. “I’m coming with you.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “And you don’t need to be afraid. You’re going to love it there.” She stood back and slipped her hand into his. Idunn had disappeared, but it was easy for Hel to open a doorway to Yggdrasil. 

She smiled up at Fandral. “She’s going to look a lot different now, because you’re a god. Don’t be scared.”

* * *

Idunn had remained confined in her orchard, unseen by anyone, for almost fifty years, so the stares didn’t surprise her. Nor did the whispers, as she made her way through the halls of Asgard to the royal wing. 

Loki’s grief was a quiet thing, which somehow made it worse. The pain of loss was not yet as strong as the pain of regret, and that’s why she was here. 

Understanding was required first, and he understood now. Hindsight showed all. 

Idunn knocked quietly on the door to Thor’s room, giving Helblindi a small smile when he opened it. Thor was sitting on their bed, doing his best to comfort his grieving brother. That they had all known this was coming did not ease the pain in the least. 

She made her way to the bed, crouching down beside Loki and placing a hand on his arm. “Hello, little god of nothing at all.” 

Loki sniffled and gasped, and did his best to wipe his eyes. “Idunn.”

“I thought, perhaps, you were ready for a different title. Mischief hasn’t suited you in a long time.” 

He only stared at her, eyes still wet, and she ran a hand through his hair. “I think you understand well enough now to be the God of Regrets, don’t you?” He whined and tucked his head against Thor’s chest. “Not a happy role,” she admitted softly. “But an important one.”

Fandral had to sit down. “Big,” he wheezed. “She - she doesn’t _end!”_

He craned his neck back and tried to see everything, _anything._

“Lady Yggdrasil, you are _beautiful,”_ he said softly. Hel tugged at his hands and helped him back to his feet. 

“C’mon! You can explore with her later. Mama needs you now.”

* * *

Thor stepped back from the bed and pressed himself against Helblindi’s front, grateful as ever when his mate’s larger arms came up to hold him tightly. 

“It seems… almost cruel, though,” Thor murmured and Helblindi hummed.

“I think there’s something we’re missing though,” Helblindi mused. “After all, what usually accompanies Regrets?”

Idunn petted Loki’s hair. “What do you think, Loki? Do you think you could be the god who helps people with that?” 

“I don’t see how,” he muttered. “Isn’t it too late when we’ve reached this point?” 

She hummed. “That depends on what you want. Sometimes it’s impossible to reach the dreams you had before. But you can make new dreams. Adaptation has always been a skill of yours, and that will help you guide others. If you can help them realize they’ll regret before they reach that point, all to the good. Or perhaps you will simply help them find a new path when the first ends. As you yourself need to find a new path.” 

He sighed and nodded softly. “I’m... I don’t want a new path. Not yet. I don’t know what to look for.” What he had wanted was too far gone for him to find a way to twist it. He was lost and he didn’t know how to find his way back. Especially now that the world was too quiet and his skin too still. 

“What if I help?” She smiled gently. “What if I gave you some options? Would that help?” 

Loki shrugged and stared down at his hands. There was a quiet knock on the door and Idunn turned to Thor and Helblindi. “Hel is stopping by for a visit. Why don’t you let her in?”

Helblindi nipped at the back of Thor’s neck lightly and moved away to open the door. He grinned at Hel when she held a single finger to her lips and winked and when he saw who was behind her… 

It all clicked for him. 

Loneliness and regret always went hand in hand. 

He looked over at Idunn and then let the door swing gently open. Hel bounced in, but she bypassed her mother and leapt into Thor’s arms, slapping a hand over his mouth before he could make a sound. 

Helblindi moved out of the doorway and smiled as Fandral shuffled awkwardly into the bedroom. He didn’t look at anyone or anything, his golden eyes focused on the hunched over figure on their bed. 

“It’s good to see you again, _vinur minn_.”

Loki stiffened, his head coming up quickly. He stared at Fandral. It was definitely Fandral, but like he had been on that Solstice over forty years ago. Young and beautiful and bright, and impossible, of course. Impossible. 

“My Priest,” he murmured, but his eyes drew down in worry. “Did I do something wrong? I’d never... you’re the first soul I released. D-Did I do it wrong?” He looked at Idunn, then to Hel, and back to Fandral. “Or are you just... visiting?”

Fandral took a careful step closer and then knelt by the bed. He put his hand out on the blanket, palm up and smiled at Loki. 

“You did everything right,” Idunn said softly, and Fandral nodded. 

“She gave me an Apple. I earned my own godhood and title.” He tried very hard not to focus on the fact that Loki had yet to touch him or even look at him properly. “God of Loneliness,” he said quietly and put his hand back in his lap. 

“I’m _yours,_ Loki. Even if I am dead. I mean, I _was_ dead. Or maybe I still am, I don’t know how this whole Apple thing works to be honest, but it was nice to eat at least. And it was so wonderful to see Hel again, and if you want me to go I will. I know I messed up, and I know you probably don’t _want_ me here but Idunn said our souls bonded and I just wondered if maybe that meant you felt as empty as I have for the last forty-four years. Oh lord, even being dead doesn’t make me _stop!”_

Fandral shoved his fingers in his mouth and sighed.

Almost fifty years of silence and his mouth apparently needed to make up for it. He felt his cheeks burn a little and ducked his head.

Loki sighed, his lips quirking up a little despite himself. He caught Fandral’s wrist in his hand and gently pulled his fingers free from his mouth. 

“I missed that,” he admitted quietly. “You never rambled when you prayed. You were always very sure I was worth your words.” 

He slid his hand down Fandral’s arm to hold his, relieved to feel the warmth of his skin and the shift of his muscles. Not a heavy, cold hand, but one that fit easily in his. 

He glanced at Idunn. She smiled and nodded. “He earned his Apple. You’re not dead anymore, Fandral. You’ve been remade. You’re a god now, as alive as everyone else here.” 

Loki loked back at the hand in his. It fit like it had been made for his. 

“God of Loneliness,” he whispered. “I’m the God of Regrets, and I have a lot. I regret not coming to see you in the forty-five years of your loyal prayers. And I regret lying to you and hurting you. But I don’t regret meeting you. You were the most wonderful priest a god could ask for.” He looked up at Fandral, his eyes filling again with tears. “Will you stay? I don’t think it will be so lonely if I have the god of loneliness here with me. If you want to, I mean. I’m just a simple god. I’m not perfect. I might hurt you again - I’m good at that, I am. I don’t know what you ever saw in me.”

Fandral had never been very good with words. He tried, and he’d always made sure his prayers were succinct and that he didn’t ramble on. 

But even he knew that sometimes actions were just… better. 

So he squeezed the hand in his and cupped Loki’s cheek with the other. “Loki,” he said cheerfully, “I was dead an hour ago. And do you know _my_ only regret?” 

When Loki shook his head, Fandral grinned and leaned in closer, pressing his lips firmly to Loki’s. 

“I didn’t get to do _that,”_ he said softly. “I haven’t kissed anyone in nearly fifty years, beloved God. I was waiting for you. We’re going to hurt each other. That’s what happens when you love someone. But I waited a lifetime for you.” 

Fandral moved and sat beside Loki on the bed and took both his hands in his own and brought them to his lips. 

“Praise and Hail be to you,” he murmured, lips brushing Loki’s skin with every word, “my beloved God of Regrets.”

* * *

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> fy ffrind - my mate


End file.
